His eyes narrow and there's a bit of an angry flash in them, but only for a minute.

"All I ask is that you let me try."

It could, after all, be that he's wrong about purpose. Maybe that's just a smokescreen for something else. He hates to think there's no purpose, though.

He won't let it distress him. But he's not sure how long he can be a wealth of optimism for someone who's chronically depressed.

He will try; turning back to the food he doesn't need to eat he picks up his chopsticks and, a little perfunctorily, eats.

And is caught off guard again by how exquisite and enhanced everything tastes. Why is this his experience and not hers? Why?

Gren knows he won't figure it out right here, today. He can't. It's like a puzzle: the pieces need to fall together over time.