"I never would have known." He mumbled. How beautifully he'd arched and begged, how he struggled, asked so sweetly for his freedom. The spirit was willing but the body? Ached and burned and shuddered in turn, soothed only by ointment, by elfroot, and by rest. He fell into a doze easily enough against Michel but this time? The dreams were warmer. Kinder.

Less blood and pain and more the sandy shores of Antiva and Michel stretched out, fair and oiled under an awning, Zevran himself bronzed and sitting with Michel's head on his lap, combing his fingers through his hair. Idle, comfortable affection in a place he loved.