[ The only thing Jaune has noticed about Ariane's eyes is that they're as delicately pretty as the rest of her. She was lovely out under the stars, but in the firelight's flattering glow that softens the stark hollows of her cheeks and puts colour back into her skin, she's so beautiful it makes Jaune almost feel like he shouldn't look at her at all.

For some reason, he thinks of a little white horned animal, shining like the inside of a seashell. He's trying to remember what it's called when she asks her question, and down on his knees Jaune ducks his head with an unexpected warmth in his cheeks. ]

You're welcome. [ He says, almost shy. ] And I'm afraid I don't. I know even know how I'd be able to know that...hundreds? Thousands? How many memories do people usually have?