( Excuse the gentleman kindly averting his gaze, lost to the shreds and diffused dispersions of light that drift down with motes of golden, warmed dust. He has missed this, the calm of morning, denied to them in Eidris.

Later, when they retreat to their assigned abodes, he will remember that sunlight whipped his forehead, cradled his cheeks. That he was briefly, fleeting, a child of Cloud Recesses once more.

And that Wrathion, forgiven of his natural circumspection, thought lesser of him. )

Pardoned. ( Let courtesy prevail first, above all, foremost relation of duty. ) If you are assaulted as threat in the nests, you will have sword.

( Bichen, fettered in her sheath wraps, tight-held in Wangji's clasp. Also unrelinquished. )