The Lord of Shades waits, patiently. They're not going to rush him. Shoulder-tendrils shift only in quiet anxiety. They're confident and nervous at once.

...Lemm's weight is so slight. His smallness, their hugeness, hits them all over again.

Another hand comes to curl about the edge closest to where he stands, as though he might tip off. Not impossible, truthfully.

Their hands lift, slow and fluid, until he's steadily held in front of their face. It's not too terribly high--for them. They're still nearly two stories up, watching him fixedly for more obvious fear.