...Gods. Ever the honest, sincere man she remembers him to be. It is still a bit bittersweet, but once the dust settled, it became easier... just as accepting his death was the first time around.

"Give them time. I'm sure someone will get around to it eventually. Likely sooner rather than later." Irhya lifts her arms above her head and stretches, her tail curling around to one side. "Perhaps, then, we should've taken Corentiaux too... Ah, well. Things have calmed down enough now that I'm sure it's a huge burden off of him, too."

Speaking of which, there's still plenty to fill him in on, between Camp Dragonhead's new commander (and erstwhile assistant), the complete restructuring of Ishgard's government, and the hard-won peace with Hraesvelgr and his brood... It'll be a lot to take in at once. Better, then, to start with something lighter. She reaches for the item she'd been carrying, haphazardly wrapped in whatever paper she could find at the time, and offers it to Haurchefant.

"You've got to be melting in that. Between what you came in with and nothing at all, I figured I might as well prepare you an alternative..."

There are a few shirts inside. All simple fare; light cotton and linen tunics like the type Ul'dahn men wear during the hottest seasons, but less fancy. And they are long-sleeved, of course -- that seems to be the rule of Ishgardian modesty, and besides, she's not sure she wants to roll with whatever implications giving him something that doesn't have sleeves might carry...

"They're probably a bit big," she appends, "but I wanted to err on the side of caution. It's not great, but it'll do."