With the same lack of self-consciousness - so strange in one who spent most of his life in a world where physical contact was often relegated to violence, and the rest of it in a world where it is generally frowned upon - he leans into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment but still seeing her there, only young and lovely and so much less wearied by the world.

And then he shakes his head, gently, so as not to dislodge her hand, and opens his eyes to smile at her again.

"No," he says, soft but firm. "Never wish to be anything but what you are. Because you are a treasure - I think more than anyone I have ever known."