"That is all I could ask for," Carlisle relents, giving his partner's scar one more affectionate touch before returning his attention to the wilds ahead of them. He's aware there are just some things they will always disagree on, given their very different upbringings, worlds, and ideologies; however, their similarities are greater than the sum of all that separates them. If there is nothing else real around them, their bond is, and he will not allow himself to doubt that again, not after it was nearly all that held him together as he neared his very grim end -- an end averted because of their bond.

However Glacius wants to attribute it, the most important part is that it exists. That will do for now, and so Carlisle decides to change the subject. Don't talk about the city, don't talk about their burdens. Probably shouldn't talk about Pendlebrook Brimstone, as Glacius has no doubt heard enough of that. Carlisle latches onto what comes to mind first.

"Uncle Boris used to go on walks like this to clear his head," he starts, his breath picking up again as he carefully steps over a precarious rock. "He would, ah, sometimes march into the woods with nothing but the clothes on his back, and be gone for the better part of a week, surviving on what the world provided."