[ he rare allows anyone to touch the scar; he permits the touch only for a second before drawing his head aside, and takes tim's hand in his own. long-boned fingers grip tim's wrist in a firm hold, calluses from swordfighting rough against the thin skin where the veins sit under. ]

I have neither. But I have you now. [ he feels — light, and alight, buzzing with an energy he's not oft known. ] Mother's getting ready, she'll be out in a few moments.

[ his cheek is warmed where tim had touched him. still warm, lingering. ]

Pity that silvered hair won't look so good on you.