Tugging on his end of the thread, Gorlim opens himself to Lee, and to Namo, selectively showing now only the extent of his love for his brother -- the hero-worship of an older sibling, the vaguely romantic physical aspect that is present but not a necessity, the simple, complete trust, and the need to guard that which he so loves from all harm, so that he in turn can be guarded by Lee -- his safe place, his brother, his gwador. As they touch, now, the color of his mind changes back to normal, looses its greenish-yellow fear and becomes tarnished silver reflecting a reddish hue, as if standing beside dusty crimson curtains. Rough, unpolished, cobwebs clinging -- this is the color of his very soul, the color of his Song.
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Tugging on his end of the thread, Gorlim opens himself to Lee, and to Namo, selectively showing now only the extent of his love for his brother -- the hero-worship of an older sibling, the vaguely romantic physical aspect that is present but not a necessity, the simple, complete trust, and the need to guard that which he so loves from all harm, so that he in turn can be guarded by Lee -- his safe place, his brother, his gwador. As they touch, now, the color of his mind changes back to normal, looses its greenish-yellow fear and becomes tarnished silver reflecting a reddish hue, as if standing beside dusty crimson curtains. Rough, unpolished, cobwebs clinging -- this is the color of his very soul, the color of his Song.