He finds the stammer charming, but he's not certain that saying so would be a good idea. Farogil's uncomfortable with it. Maybe sometime later, and it's definitely a little odd to be thinking about later like that, like someone would want to keep him around for a significant amount of time. Daunting. That's the word. But before he can worry himself about that feeling, Farogil's returning the flattery. Detlef laughs.

"Not quite as many people pass through here as Cliffside. We don't have so many things to offer." That, and often the flattery is just show, self-preservation, distraction. He's Profane, after all. He hadn't trusted that his own family wouldn't betray him. Lance not turning him in has given him a little hope, though.

"I'd say about half that. Spending a lot of time with people's horses cuts down on chances to spend time with them, I've found." He says it happily. Maybe he's missed opportunities to make out, but it doesn't feel like he's lost for it. Especially not with his arm around someone he can make grin like that. "It's a lot less personal than offering to embroider someone's trousers, I'd assume. You could offer to start work then, be smooth, meanwhile I'm being snuffled by a large horse that's trying to push his way between me and his owner. Horses are not effective flirtation devices, as a note, in case you wind up looking for a second trade."