[And Myr, by turns--despite the squeak of mock-protest as he's lifted off his hooves (and oh, how good it is to feel well enough to joke like that, even if only a little)--is not ready to be let go. Crookytail ambles on ahead with the basket, knowing her way to the kitchen and the rats who can unpack it where she can't, but Myr holds them up a little longer to snuggle into Everett's side in a way that makes walking difficult.]

No, thank the Maker. [A pause, as he...considers how that's not quite true.] Not for any Cwyld infection, at least. The healers were very solicitous about anyone who might've gotten their minds snared by the Circle and I--did say I'd want someone to check me over, after what I'd mentioned to you.

[The odd gaps in his memory. The things he'd felt compelled to do or not do, and the evidence L had found that someone had been tampering with him hypnotically. Telling his own Bonded he couldn't be trusted had been awful but necessary.] Though Linden thinks he's solved the original problem, at least.

["The original problem." It's a measure of how discomfited Myr is by all of this that he's talking around this in euphemisms--] --But we can talk about that over dinner, dearheart; you've got to be starving!

[--and trying to avoid dwelling on it too long in favor of caring for someone else.]