[Hector listens to the ridiculous name of the hive. He snorts, and it turns into a chuckle. Myr probably doesn't know yet what a rarity it is, hearing Hector laugh.]

That's... simultaneously the most rational and least practical name I've ever heard.

[He shakes his head and lets out a long breath. The tin, he brings over toward Myr.]

Here. These are for you, if you want them. They're soaked in honey-syrup, so they're sticky.

[Since Myr can't see them, he figures a warning is merited before the other faun reaches for one and finds out for himself.]