She cannot suppress the giggle at his self-deprecating comment, and she offers him a warm smile. She found that she did not believe him incapable of much, singing included, despite his attempts to persuade her otherwise. Even if he were to be telling the truth, Shiloh was pretty certain that she would have appreciated the effort all the same.

In hindsight, it almost feels silly to have feared his reaction to her confession. Even her father would have likely understood her position, though he likely wouldn't agree with it. To him, family was everything. It seemed to underscore his every action and had - at least from the stories he'd told - had a massive hand in shaping his reality. Her great-grandsire had intimately controlled and contributed to her father's upbringing, to the point of forcing him into situations for which he now expressed regret.

By contrast, Shiloh's childhood had been far less controlled. She'd spent her days either alone or with her mother's mute company, and had spent far more hours watching her siblings from afar than she'd ever spent with them. Even her father's visits had been rare treats when she'd been young, an aspect that had only changed when Shiloh grew more independent from her mother and learned that she could seek him out for herself rather than waiting for him to have a chance to seek them out alone. The rest of her siblings and their parents were far more distant to her; names that she knew and trusted, but could claim no familiarity with.

She nods in response to his observation, surprised and thankful that he had found the heart of the matter. It wasn't that she didn't care, it was just that it had had little effect on her. She'd had to learn to be a little more careful, and to memorize the names of their enemies of course, but the situation had not changed her daily life in any perceivable way. It was just a thing that had happened. If it had been her mother, she couldn't even begin to imagine the trauma that would have stemmed from such a situation... but it hadn't been.

His preening earns a smile, albeit one a little more somber than before and she listens quietly to his question. As a young girl, Shiloh had believed that all herds were like her father's. That every land on the islands held within it's borders a herd of so many that it was hard to remember everyone's names. It hadn't been until she was a little older and could spy on their neighbors that this delusion was broken, and even now it feels almost... indulgent to think of a herd that was close-knit enough to know everyone else's names.

During their courtship, Shiloh had often diverted to gentle humor, but she found herself remaining serious for this as they walk. She had no expectation of Temblor taking her advice given that this was his home first, and his right to fill it with as many or as few as was appropriate. After a moment she brought her gaze back up to him with another warm twitch of her lips.

"I don't know that there's a number, per se." Her voice was soft, and she watched the handsome planes of his face for a reaction as she continued. "I think every herd is different. For some, a big herd is intimidating, I think," she thought of her mother, and her tendency to hide away from the herd, and then of Golden Illusion and her refusal to stay away from her herdmates. "And for others, it's exactly what they want."

The obvious next question of what she wanted hung in the air for a moment before she threw him a bone and answered without making him drag it out of her. "I think I could be okay with a big herd, if that's what you wanted." There was sincerity in her voice, albeit it apprehensive, and she stretched to touch his shoulder with her muzzle briefly. "I would miss the little moments like this though."

Her head tilted gently, eyes searching through his for some sort of clue as to his own feelings. "What is it you want, Tem? Do you know yet?"