[ It's a little trancelike, at first. How warm it is, and how smoothly he rearranges the knots at the back of her skull. Her blinks slow, and then become slower still, like a moth coming to rest over light. She thinks, briefly, maybe impossibly, that this might be the last — the only, in some measure — another might do this for her. Who knows what awaits them in the city? After the cure, what will their lives look like? Hers will return, she is certain, to more of living just outside Baldur's Gate, to chasing birds and game through the woods, to Bosky's whines when he has mud on his nose. The two of them, just two, in amongst all the green.

But thoughts like that do so little to chase away the feeling that sits in her chest. It beats very strongly. It's that that emboldens her, makes her turn to look at him with a glint in her smile. ]

Yes. [ There's a laugh somewhere, tucked into the shape of her mouth as she echoes, ] Can't you tell?

[ Surely, it is very easy to guess, but he is speaking the words aloud anyway. It would be silly to mimic him much further, so Tav keeps her boldness. Offers more, and further. ]

I don't have anything very pretty to say. [ She hums lightly. ] I did not always see you very well. You are a very good liar. I did not always understand what you wanted, and it was very frustrating. Sometimes you are still very frustrating. And even when you said these things to me, about what you thought of, and what you needed, I could not always let myself trust them, because of the things I imagined you to be. It was very unfair. But I see you better now.

[ A fissure of something unpleasant worms its way past all that very solid surety. It always happens like this, in these times when it is more quiet at camp, late at night with her companions. Doubt. Self-consciousness. Her cheeks flush when she adds, a little haltingly, ]

I— think I see you better now. You let me.