After a time the journal is slid aside onto the floor and Lemm's empty hands fold over his middle, comfortable and content. In someone else's home. With someone else. Not for business or to settle anything, but to be here. To be present.

With someone else.

His head feels like flaking bark. In a good way.

...A long time passes.

Half-dozing, it feels like the weight of his horns pulls him against the pillows. Lemm quietly pushes forward, up off the cushions, and picks up the journal again to quietly re-read.