Miquel frowns a little; he's never had to think about movement, not these past months and years, no. He thinks himself outside the circle, then looks at the heap or discarded comic books young Cesare has piled up (embarrassing enough) and instantly sits on top of them. "Like so?" he asks sceptically and moves on to the window sill.
Meanwhile, Cesare has got up. He doesn't say anything until he's found his telefonino. Flipping it open, he pretends to concrentate on the display. "Oh, I've forgiven him, Ser Xellos. I've forgiven him for ripping out my heart. There wasn't much of it to begin with." He knows when he's being cruel; it's his only defense. All he wants now is to crawl back under Miquel's wing and be safe and smell the grain and the peaches and feel Miquel's hand in his hair, but that will never be, not really.
Pursing his bitten lower lip, he looks at Xellos, then sits on his haunches beside him, passing him the telefonino. "Here," he says quietly. "I don't have your home number."