Essek could smell it before he walked in the door, the hints of a home he hadn't been to in years. The spices were familiar, rare, and while it wasn't perfect, it was close enough to know what it was meant to be a gift from the tiefling singing in the kitchen.

Affection came in so many forms.

He floated into the cottage, feeling warmer the closer he came inside. Surely it was from the heat of the stove, the fires burning. There could be no other reason.

"Pity," he said, voice low as he set down his own book and made his way across the small space. The drow slid up behind him, close, closer than normal, close so that he could raise up enough with his spell and look over the tiefling's shoulder. "Did Caleb tell you about Xhorhasian soup?"