He makes a noncommittal noise and falls into another long silence, watching the fireflies drift in and out of his vision. She's quiet, and based on the conversation she's probably feeling bad about whatever she won't talk about. He'd made the unspoken offer not to pry, and he should probably let her sleep, but...

He fidgets a little, bumping his cheek against the weasel curled at his neck. "If I ask her whether you're feeling at fault for something and won't say so, will she tell me?"