[It's part of why this - her arm tucked into his, Gray's fingers curled still near her hand as he leads her from the sitting room - has appeal. She has saved him a hundred times as he's done for her; she's seen him slay countless beasts in the dark, but in turn he's trusted her to do the same. What good would this be if they didn't trust one another? She can't begin to imagine it. If there wasn't some shared faith between them, if he didn't know her to be capable and sure in the same ways she knew it of him, then there would be no reason to tuck her hand across his wrist or wall so near through the hall as she was led.]

And yet you continue to hold this grand story hostage. I might start to think you've been exaggerating, Gray. In the future, I'll have to check your against Perceval's good word.