She's right, of course. They have time, and he has patience. It's the memory of mortal life that reminds him of fear, of selfishness, the knowledge that things can change in the blink of an eye. That she accepts with a blush allows him to relax and relinquish his grip on her.

"That's what I would like," he says with certainty. Though his renown, or infamy, is still strange to see affect a spirit like himself, he's not going to question it any further. Not yet. That it seems to be working in his favour doesn't give him much incentive to either.

He rests his hands on his hips and tries to look close to casual. "Do you have somewhere to stay?" He looks her up and down and hesitates. "Are there... traditions... or duties for this kind of thing?"