Aiden smiles through Misha's pantomine of druidic distress; her city-girl brand of sarcasm based humor a little saccharine to hit his funnybone correctly. But he has the pleasant, slightly vacant look of a man, a generation or region removed from a target audience, who is close enough to understand that this is the kind of joke that would be hysterical if he just understood it, and he is able osmose sufficient joy through that ephemeral vector.

"Well, I'm glad you like it. I'd have said the opposite - it'd be a shame just to leave it on display, on account of it's purposed for your wearing. Perfect for you, if I've done it right. The thing about perfection is it comes off the back of purpose - a thing can only be perfect for what it's made for. But heck, I'll give you the wooden doll to hang it up on, as soon as you have a place of your own to put it!" He promises, rapping his knuckles on the display doll on which the armor presently hangs; featureless humanoid construction of wooden portions, with wooden sphere joints threaded through with tensioned cords to provide a certain amount of possibility. There are three of them in the room; and fortunately, Aiden has had the good sense not to attempt faces on them or to make them too human looking; their unanimated, woodgrain bodies are about as un--creepy as it is possible to get mannequins to be.

He sends Misha into one of the bedrooms upstairs to try on the armor; makes some notes; has her change out of it again, and takes a few minutes to finalize some of the stitching while she's here. To no one's surprise, he remains chatty as he finishes it up.

"I just really appreciate your help, with the little folks there. I still don't understand them naturally - they understand me, though, and that seems to be enough. I lose sleep sometimes about how close I came to helping build something that might've.. done 'em harm."

For a second it seems like he's run out of words; but he's merely entered a moment of silent focus as he blinks back what might have been a tear or two.

"I've still got that scroll Auntie gave me; but I'm hesitant to use it. I'm hoping, when I get some more advice and help, I'll be able to get them something that'll let them speak common. Like a... Like a little lectern, and the critter that stands at it depresses something that casts a speaking spell on them. Somethin' like that, anyway. I think that's going to be important, because there might come a day when we need to stand before someone official who makes real decisions and make the argument that these are folk; and deserve all the protection and accommodation afforded to them. For that, they'll have to be able to speak in their own stead. Won't be enough to barndance. I'm hoping that you'll be able to help me again; and that you'll stay on retainer. I'll give you a gold a week just to check in once a week and be available; and pay appropriate to what comes up. But first, I wonder if you can talk to the other druids about. Well. This Speak With Animals spell. We need a way to... turn it inside out. You understand? Speak With Humanoids, for animals. Once we can make the spell, I can try to get some people to help out with the rest of it. I've already made a friend, at the Society; and she seems smart as a dart."

This is a little presumptuous, on his part; but well-meaning presumption is his standard operation. It would be extremely generous to call Shandara a friend based on their limited interactions; but off he goes, anyway.

The expression, smart as a dart, must be one specific to wherever he's from. Perhaps some derivative of sharp as a tac, but who can say for sure?