The scowl upon Magnai's features more than tell his distaste for such jesting. You walk upon thin ice, Warrior of Light, he suffers your presence because tradition dictates he should, not because of any misplaced idea of friendship.

"I have had countless suitors," He begins, his voice dripping with annoyance, "Little does that mean they are my Nhaama indeed."

Yellow eyes fall to the presents that the strange pig had left, his chin resting against his hands as they oft were. Narrowing his eyes, he continues, "We are not familiar with the traditions of the west, but the intent behind such offerings are plain."