Ezio contemplates that for a moment, even as he keeps moving around the space with the hatchet, looking for the most woeful piece of furniture to sacrifice. It's not a pleasant thing to think about, at least not in some regards; it's tempting to wipe it all away with jokes about the wild lovemaking and time spent together, but he has never faced a yawning abyss of free time, fettered only by whatever he need do to survive.

Even that reality doesn't sink in so well. His concerns for his self have always been more... cerebral. To say nothing of keeping another person busy, too.

"We will be happy," he replies, finally, feeling a little stubborn. "Our crops will be coming along, and we will be settled in enough to not worry too much about the future."