She hesitated. The protest, the modesty, the aristocratic propriety of a woman who did not wish to burden a guest with such needs, was there.
"Does the Immortal too?" she asked. The question, the curious, natural, conversational question, was there.
"Of course," he said. His voice was casual. "But we can control it. The spiritual energy processes what the body does not need. If you don't have anything to empty, how would you empty?"
She laughed again. The sound, the warm, genuine, amused laugh of a woman finding humor in the absurdity of immortal physiology, was there.
"You are right," she said. Her voice was warm.
He stood. His hand, extended, was offered.
"Come," he said. "I will guide you."
She hesitated. Then took his hand. Her small, soft fingers, in his large, golden palm, were warm.
