Not bad earns Nine an uncertain sort of look - but there's clearly nothing else there, nothing hidden. Ser Galen sometimes praises him, often lavishly - something which had, for the first few months, made him proud and happy to be doing this, proud and happy to be supporting their plans for freedom. But he'd learned in time that he either got that lavish praise, or he got disciplined. Nine isn't Ser Galen: she's honest, and she'd been absolutely gentle when the training hadn't required her to tumble him head over heels. But even so, that modulated praise has him searching her face for some sign that things are going to get worse.
Not that he can ever correctly read Ser Galen's face. Sometimes that lack of enthusiasm is followed by an explosion of violence. Sometimes nothing happens at all. Miles wishes more than anything else that he could tell which one was coming at any given time.
"Uh," he says sort of awkwardly when it registers that he'd responded to her gruff kindness with that wary look. He tries to make up for it with a, "Thanks." And then he takes a breath and tries to say more firmly, "You're kind of amazing yourself. You were really well-trained, weren't you? Not just in strength, but in precision."
He takes another, smaller bite of the rat bar. His every instinct screams at him, eat it, eat it, eat it fast before they can take it away from you, but he contains himself. They're not going to let him just sit idly and talk with Nine. A conversation while they eat, on the other hand, is permissible. So he needs to stretch out the process of eating as long as possible.
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Not that he can ever correctly read Ser Galen's face. Sometimes that lack of enthusiasm is followed by an explosion of violence. Sometimes nothing happens at all. Miles wishes more than anything else that he could tell which one was coming at any given time.
"Uh," he says sort of awkwardly when it registers that he'd responded to her gruff kindness with that wary look. He tries to make up for it with a, "Thanks." And then he takes a breath and tries to say more firmly, "You're kind of amazing yourself. You were really well-trained, weren't you? Not just in strength, but in precision."
He takes another, smaller bite of the rat bar. His every instinct screams at him, eat it, eat it, eat it fast before they can take it away from you, but he contains himself. They're not going to let him just sit idly and talk with Nine. A conversation while they eat, on the other hand, is permissible. So he needs to stretch out the process of eating as long as possible.