He smiles though pauses, still, uncertain of his own answer. The role of Herald, gracious and serene, is far easier among strangers; Daithi feels awkward for thinking Brigham more than that: not a friend, of course, — Daithi knows so few — though familiar, constant wherever the Inquisition takes him, and intimate for the mage's work. (How strange to realize ... this man knows, has even touched, his small, elfin frame, free of regalia, and still, sees something hallow and divine.)

Daithi glances from Brigham, then, reaching for his gloves. He opts to change the subject. "I'll visit requisitions," he declares, attention in adjusting each glove. "See if there are any spare blankets. Yours aren't like to dry by evening."