"Ah, the warm sands of home... this one has not felt them in many moons." Seeming to gloss over her comments, his eyes close with a moment of bliss as he thinks of his birth clan. "Skyrim is a land of bitter cold - both the weather, and the hearts of men who live there. This one envies you, for not having to hear 'thief' and 'skooma dealer' at every turn."

He doesn't seem resentful - if anything, it's nice to know that somewhere in the world Khajiit can live without being spat on. And even better, thus far he's gotten far fewer odd looks than he expected.