There isn't the ache he expected, when their hands touch--there's warmth, nostalgia that travels through the gut, and Kira can't say what for. It would be a bit much to joke about the man going overboard on smoothing the callouses out of his other hand, so he smiles up instead and mirrors his posture after. Hands in pockets, wishing he had more to wrap his fingers around than his own thumbs.

"Went back to the fountain," he admits, the smile twisting, waning: "They let me sleep at the inn, but I wanted to see this first. Someone said both ends just lead to some kind of canyon wall."