Fëanáro considers that for a moment, reaching out to run his fingers along the side of the ship (surely there must be a better word for it?), the light in his eyes gleaming brighter for a moment as the possibilities of alien - alien! - alloys turns behind them.

"I am torn," he admits then, feeling-- sheepish, in a way that he has not for Years untold. "For as a lover-of-language I wish nothing more than to discuss a new piece of literature. As an artist and crafter, however, I would dearly love to explore the possibilities - if only hypothetical - inherent in the existence of materials from entire other worlds."