[He sighs, tiredly, that weight shifting from him but not lifting yet.] Wish it had happened in the dream: happened in the shop. I was sharpening my sword and we had words, in front of a customer, no less. I ain't got the box, but he does.

[A pause, and he proffers a realization he's come to in the wake of all that.]

Probably would've gone better if we'd quarreled in the dream.

[Likely the next question is rhetorical, but it could be a moment of stepping back from the weight of the day.]

Dreams inside dreams, do I wanna know how that even works?