Faolan glances aside at the other man, more than a little unsure of himself as he does so. Lancelot's hand on his back gives him some support though, even if the other man removes it sooner than he would have liked. But it isn't up to him, and Lancelot isn't obligated to keep touching him. So Faolan shoves his own hands in his pockets, hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder as he does.

"Maybe not," he agrees, slightly gruffly. "I'd still prefer it if you were being honest about whether or not you could stand to be there though." It really isn't the best place -- it's not like he's not cleaning up after himself or that it would be unpleasant at all in that regard. It's just that it's, well. Small, dark, bare, and kind of sad if Faolan is being entirely honest with himself.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet as he walks. "Where is that market you had mentioned we were stopping at?" he asks, trying to change the subject for a moment instead.