Her laughing manages to get a smile out of him, surely the fault of the airag. He doesn't seem offended by either proposal.

"August is pretty nice. That's when all the leaves start changing color."

It kindles warmer memories in him, the loose association with the word and the fair breeze and fiery orange leaves. Sometimes, they were red like arterial blood spilled from an enemy throat. It was when war campaigns began to consider their winter plans, pausing once the bite of cold became too harsh.

In the end, he never knew why it was picked. Perhaps it was appropriate in his own way, to want to cling to the last remnant of that warm embrace that kept him alive back then. If nothing else, then a name.

He looks back at Vena when Lashan does, listening to the apparent backstory to her name. The last sips of the airag leaves him with a small warmth to his cheeks, sinking comfortably in his spot. He seems to think this was nice, too.

"Vein, huh? Guess we'd be matching, then. Who could've guessed."