Preening his actual feathers in public - even with them hidden by the enchantments of his amulet - would be too much for him to handle right now, and he is grateful she is aware of that. Her fingers stroking his shoulder are enough.

"Eight," Skellig says softly, tilting his head slightly - he appears as if he is just listening to another hint of conversation from another alcove, but what he is actually hearing (and absorbing) are the echoes that filter beneath Ajax's words, the sadness and frustration, the feelings of being seen as a disappointment, the yearning for approval and love from a youngest son who needs his father.

He lightly squeezes Kreyu's hand, intertwining their fingers - to steady himself more than anything. "That is many lives to compare to your own, but there is no need for it. Each of us are individuals and will walk our own path."