[for a moment, Morax wonders if he didn't stumble completely, once more. The hesitation is hard not to notice, even with a new dish being served... and it's a dish he certainly doesn't seem to mind, nor show any real hesitation in eating (unsurprising, perhaps, given what he is). The rich flavor and delicate mouthfeel are enough to distract, in those moments, but only for that short time.

He's almost ready to dismiss the question entirely when Dohalim finally speaks. It's not... much of an answer, but it is there. And his words prompt a weak smile, Morax's gaze not quite piercing in its curiosity.]

No, but surely there must be some time.

[even an Astral spirit like himself knows the value of rest, perhaps more keenly even than a human. Energy is finite, and the toll of it on a mortal's body...]

One cannot burn endlessly, though. Surely, you've someone who can see when you're struggling...? [It's almost too quiet to hear, words murmured half to himself. The idea of Dohalim continuing on and on, as though the whole world is at once upon his shoulders and also keen to leave him behind... it's too sad, isn't it? Even for someone so determined to die.] Ah? Poetry and...?

[that, he prods on gently, curiosity plain and warm. There are many arts, after all, and he can't decide which would be Dohalim's preference. Better to ask.]