No crying. Right, okay. At least that was some kind of direction. Samandriel took a steadying breath and wiped his face with his slightly too long cuffs. "It's not offensive," he said softly. Another breath and he regained his composure, not that he'd gotten very far in losing it in the first place.
"I'm human. Until four weeks ago, I wasn't. And, if you'll permit me, Master, in the spirit of you not expecting me to do anything I don't wish to, I'd rather not talk about it. But...for as long as I've been human, yours was the first touch I had that wasn't meant to inflict pain. I...I wanted to give that kindness back to you." He didn't know how he managed to find the strength to keep standing and within arms reach of Mitchell, or when he turned around to face him, but he was there, now. Standing. Not crying. It was progress.