There comes from the stove the sound shifting crockery, gentle footfalls across wooden floorboards, the shifting of fabric as a body comes closer. Then the warm, fragrant scent of spiced tea, as a cup is placed on the table.

"Vervain," Tuo says gently, undemanding, and slips his arm around his friend's shoulders again. In the privacy of his home, he feels fewer reservations about coaxing the young man into a supportive embrace, encouraging him with a squeeze to his shoulders to cry, to free his grief and pain into the air in a space where no one will judge or condemn him for it. Softly, he reminds him, "I'm here. You are not alone."