Daemon definitely does not look old enough to have spent sixty years doing anything. He settles into his own chair, loosing a puff of dust that makes him blink and wrinkle his nose. Rustic living seemed to catch him continually by surprise with how much very fine grit seemed to sneak in from the surrounding woods. He can't help but smile at the noise she makes as she sinks into her own chair, though.

Once he's seated, though, he tilts his head in a gracious acknowledgement of her sympathy and offers a quiet, "Thank you."

After a moment, he continues with a, "It's been over a decade and a still miss her. This holiday—well. It's her holiday." He furrows his brow, briefly, and visibly reconsiders his topic, accounting for her youth and the fact that he's currently...fairly maudlin, in a way he thought he'd learned how to hide much better than this. She certainly doesn't need to bear the brunt of his mood. When he continues, his words are lighter and more amused. "Tonight would be very little different for me if I were back where I belonged, rather than here, though I would have had a different group of friends and neighbors to entertain. By which I mean thank you also for joining me tonight. I learned a while ago that it's much better to celebrate this holiday among friends."