Ver, dear blind thing he is, remains utterly oblivious to the silent conversation going on around him; he's lost instead in considering the practical logistics of where Tuo's going to sleep. (And what to do with a stubborn magpie occupying the vicar's office.)

"He's not perched above anything important, is he?" he asks suddenly. "Nothing we can't clean if he messes on it?" Birds, man.

"And there's only space in the sanctuary if you'd like to be closer'n the gods ever intended to Bert." A man who smelled like that no matter what he did was absolute if alarming proof of Divinity at work in men's lives. "You stay here; I'll fetch a blanket."