Dunsk let out a low growl when Quentin asked if he'd let Dunsmith up now. Yes, their face was no longer red as the peppers they'd eaten, but they were still in clear distress.
Dunsk put his face inches away from Dunsmith's. Quentin still in pain, yes? he asked, bringing Dunsmith's attention to it and away from whatever nonsense he'd been babbling about. Fix it. Show them same care you would own child, yes?
Dunsmith balked. They aren't my child! he protested, having the sense to keep this particular conversation private. They're fully grown. They don't need me to baby them!
And if son - who also grown - had bellyache, you help, yes? Dunsk prompted. Dunsmith seemed to have no retort to that. Not need go as far as would for son, Dunsk said, tone softening slightly, feeling Dunsmith's feelings at the mention of his son across their bond. But be kind, yes?
Dunsmith let out a defeated sigh. Fine, he agreed. Dunsk let him up. Without a word, Dunsmith went back towards the food and got a glass of water. Bringing it back to the table, he took out a handkerchief and used the cool water to soak it. He draped the handkerchief over the back of Quentin's neck. He looked at the table, seeing how many of the fruit were left, and knowing that Quentin hated waste, he started popping the various fruits into his mouth. Seeing this, Dunsk was satisfied and padded out of the dining hut once more. "Faranth," Dunsmith grumbled. "Thought he'd never leave." He shook his head as he peeled the skin off a round orange fruit he'd had before and quite liked the taste of. "He's an odd one, that wher. Whoever heard of one that fussed over and babied everyone but their handler? I mean, after all, I am an old man, here! I could've broken a hip when he knocked me over. I may not be his favorite person, but he's still going to feel it if anything happens to me! You'd think he'd take a bit more care of me and trust other people to look after their own welfare."