It would be interesting to hear that there's something more shocking than his large robot-self, but Wing would be too polite to ask even if he had more than a faint clue. Regardless though, he feels better when she calms, the pinions flanking his shoulder nacelles lifting again as his mood brightens.

"M'gann M'orzz," He says it, tasting the strange syllables and committing them to memory. Then cheerily he adds, "Well met. I've been here about the same time, it's...definitely an interesting predicament they have here. I do like their traditions though. We have festivals at home but not themed like this."

He regards her candle, cradled gently in both hands as if careful not to spill the wish out of it before it can be set free down the river. His helm tilts, "Your candle, does it refuse the light?"