Contrary to reputation, Tristan is just shy of leaving her alone; he came here to spellcast in peace, and she came here to scry in peace, and neither of them particularly wants to converse or budge but here they are. He'd be on the verge of budging, too, except that she's about to scry, in fact.

Scrying is interesting, magically speaking. Scrying is also dangerous. It's hard to do something interesting and dangerous in Tristan's vicinity without a risk of interference.

His eyes flicker to the bowl. "No," he says. "I came here to do something else. I hope I'm not bothering you."

He bends down and draws his knife, and starts to sketch a circle in the dirt around himself with the point. He's a little more used to working with an audience: thanks, friends.