"Poor thieves. I should spare them the fate Beleth will give them, and lock up better," He's laughing, but it's true-- though perhaps Adasse doesn't quite realize it, "Unless they're invited, of course."

Present company and all that. Sorrel glances back at the papers, then shrugs one-shouldered, dusting his hands together to combat the smudging. The pile of rough parchment does nothing at all, except continue to be as it is; rough-edged, slightly grey from use and remaking, and here and there showing a line of black half-obscured in the strata.

"No, that's nothing. Just something to keep my hands busy, more or less. What've you got, there?"