Xel's hands slide down Iago's arms until they're holding each other by the elbows, and he looks up at him, warm and soft.
"When all is blue and rime, when glassy panes all Blanching do obscure the iron skies, When all the colors weaken of the fall, And leaden are the lids on failing eyes-- When groaning sap-rich boughs turn snake-pale bellies To the sun, their clear sharp curtains clinking, And old men moan, and nurse rheumatic knees, From pure clear air the world alike ashrinking, Still August lives in glowing golden walls, Still April's breath stirs in October hair. Still honey's tantalizing sting enthralls, Still gem-bright hoarded smiles flash sly and fair. So, pricked by hearth-forged, bright, doubly thrown dart, Must winter flutter by, unfelt depart."