Maybe it was the mention of apples that softened his heart towards her just a bit. It was the apple trees that had snared him when he first found the property, the sight of them hanging untended and heavy upon their branches and the smell of those that had fallen to the ground fermenting and filling the country air with the sweet aroma. Upon his discharge, he knew he wanted a life in the rural hills that was far from either city or battlefield. Victor had never desired to be a farmer so much in his life, despite a childhood spent being shipped back and forth between the orphanage and the work fields. Yet with his senses lulled by ripe redness and intoxicating fresh fruit, he knew his place was working the land by his own hand. His softening towards his guest was betrayed to her by the way Victor's body marginally relaxed as he gazed at those same trees.

"The trees in front there?" he finally offered quietly. "Those apples are free for the picking. Take any you want off of those. Pear trees 'long the far side of the house, too. They're all just as good as anything else I grow. Any one from Arbordale can do the same if they like, so long as they don't get cocky and strip them bare by the wagonload. Small enough price to pay to keep the neighbors happy, and it keeps most of the children from stealing outright from the proper orchard in back. Speaking of which? You can go walking back there if you want, makes for a nice morning hike, but leave off any of the fruit. That all gets sold to the City and towns."

Turning his gaze from the line of trees that separated his property from the country lane that lead past it, Victor turned to look up at her. How long ago had he been the stranger here? True, the villagers of Arbordale had accepted him fairly quickly as one of their own. Most of them even acted as though he had lived among them all of his life instead of just a couple of years, especially once they discovered that despite having been a soldier he did know something of farming. But this pretty young lady was from the city, and while she might have been welcomed as a guest, there would be those in the village who would be far happier with her coin than with her. "Miss...Kijani, is it, then? Not sure if you'll understand, but... Folks around here tend to be a bit private. They like their quiet. And while they all love a good tongue wag to pass the time, they don't like to share that gossip too much with outsiders. So if a bunch of washer wives suddenly shut their gobs when you walk by, don't take it too personally." 

Victor looked away suddenly, busying himself with pulling out his pipe from a belt pouch and relighting it with a lucifer match. While trying to give her a kind word, he realized he had been gazing at her as though she were one of his trees. Like the apple trees, she was fresh and alive and healthy. This close to her, Victor could catch the faint whiff of day-faded perfume that came across as enticing as apple blossoms and pear leaves. To cover the sudden embarrassment, he coarsely struck the match and started to puff at the briarwood's stem. "Best advice I can give, Miss Kijani? Don't go poking about. And don't bring any trouble."