Verin leans down as Essek draws him in for a kiss. His brother has always been able to move him with the lightest touch; he is one of the few (possibly only) people that Verin yields to almost without hesitation. He would not be a Taskhand if he were seen as too pliable. But it has always been different with Essek.

He follows his brother after that tender caress and a small smile tugs at his mouth when Essek turns down the bed. And if his attention lingers on his brother's bare legs, Verin thinks he can be forgiven: he hasn't seen them in quite some time. He doesn't hesitate to join Essek when he is given the invitation. Verin slips into the bed, sore and stiff but better than he was when he arrived in Rosohna.

In the soft, familiar bed, Verin can't quite resist the urge to kiss Essek's temple. He breathes in the scent of him, more vivid than the faded remnants on a scarf he may have taken with him the last time he saw Essek. He wants to thank his brother again, and again, but he thinks he has said it enough. Or he's said it enough that Essek will gently chide him for doing it yet again.

That affection given, Verin relaxes into the pillows and immediately turns his head so that he is still looking at Essek.

"There was a moment," he murmurs, "a long, terrible moment when I thought this was gone."