As Wrathion's fingers brush his temple, the priest's eyes close, and he opens himself to the search. He knows what it feels like to have something brush against your mind's defenses, what it's like to do the same to someone else. So it's a simple matter to just...let him in.

The confusion and heat brought about by the incense is beginning to fade, bleeding away from the edges in his mind. Guilt, however, remains. Worry. Concern, and then, tinging it all...

Affection. Constricted, long-buried, but present as it ever had been. The same affection that had blossomed years ago when they were both young, somewhat marred by the events that had passed since, but tenaciously resilient despite it all.