Owain knew exactly what Fuu's less-than-gentle grip on his elbow meant; he'd been on the receiving end of similar ones from his mother ever since he was little, and later from Lucina. Stop talking right now was how it usually translated. But what had he said? He was trying his best to help, so why were his comrades giving him that look? He hadn't screwed anything up, had he?

Well, if they didn't want his help, he could keep his mouth shut. He was capable of doing so when he put his mind to it, despite popular belief. Although when the queen spoke of compensation and Arj suggested something from their own worlds, Owain scowled and bit his lip to hold back the protest that threatened to spill out as his hand drifted protectively over his sword's scabbard.

The ants were not getting Mystletainn. No key was worth that; Owain didn't care if it was made of a hundred swords.