[ He is beginning, slowly, to anticipate Francel's thoughts turning to difficult theories and suppositions; his penchant for melancholy is stronger than his good sense, and needs frequent and patient correction. ]

They are not here — you and I are, and we have naught to gain by dwelling on unlikely possibilities.

[ Aymeric releases Francel's hand and the subject both, leaning back a little. ]

Behind your ears, you said?

[ He lifts his hand to hover by Francel's ear, warm and close, but waiting cautiously. ]

I see nothing. May I?