Dinadan continues to try and fail for coherency -- or even actual English words -- for another thirty seconds. But he can't really argue with Henry's assessment. He would have spent the week in a giant fret if he'd known, and there's only so much baking he can do before it stops calming him down.
"I hate you," he moans in defeat, burying his face in his free hand. "I don't know if I should thank you or run screa-- wait, Petra who?"
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