The brief meet of skin as the shell passed hands was unremarkable. She was neither hot nor cold, merely humanly warm; nor did a jolt of fire or ice pierce the man's veins on contact. Her hand dropped.<br/><br/>"Find soil suiting, Faolan. Hone your prickles, lest the beasts partake. And should you chance to bloom, perhaps you'll meet a gardener here, in the fade of a gibbous moon."<br/><br/>The woman said naught else, but lifted upturned palm the way he was to set upon. His silence was to begin.