Tenth nodded slowly, more in acknowledgement than in agreement, taking in the other man's strange, foreboding words. He spoke kindly, gently, and there was sincerity to it when he asserted that the knight - the former, disgraced knight - was not useless, nor owed an apology to him. And yet Liraeth did not order him. Made a point out of not doing so, which didn't escape Tenth's notice, though he wouldn't call attention to it openly. Whatever use there was to be gotten out of him, Liraeth seemed to have no need for it, and it stung.

With grim resignation Tenth focused instead on his other words, mainly the confession that he'd been concealing something, which didn't come as a surprise at all. With the way Liraeth held himself, effortlessly dignified and endlessly patient, it was easy to assume - likely not incorrectly - that he was a wise, knowledgeable man. He must've found something among the ruins that Tenth's own thorough but mindless search missed. Tenth shook his head. "You don't owe me any truths," he said with a shrug. It seemed so simple. "And worry not for my dustress. There's little else to be taken away from me."

He meant to sound reassuring, not realizing the words had come out so grim.

"I... don't have another name," he confessed, his tone still apologetic, though Liraeth told him not to apologize. It wasn't an order, was it? It didn't feel like one, but Tenth feared he might have lost the ability to differentiate whether it was his own will compelling him to do something or someone else's. "I'm neither a sir nor a knight any longer, but I have always been Tenth."

His name has never felt so... inadequate before. If Liraeth wished to call him something else, he wasn't sure there'd be anything left of him - the original him, the way he knew himself to be before the tragedy at his castle. He felt too tired to think of such things. The promise of setting up a camp sounded delightfully appealing. He wondered if Liraeth would have him keep watch. He wasn't sure he could, but if the same dull, focused decisiveness took over him as when the other man had given him small instructions earlier, perhaps he'd manage. The world was a lot less tiring when everything got a little muffled.

"The sky is almost clear," he noted, neither pleased nor displeased with the fact, merely trying to guess where Liraeth would prefer to stay the night. "We don't need much cover if it's not going to rain. The worst thing in these woods would be the wolves. A fire will scare them off."

A hesitant pause. A quick glance. A short hiss as he sucked in a breath.

"I can make a fire, but it'll be easier if you tell me to."