What kind of person would he be to make an offer and not follow through on it? This whole process is fascinating, has his mind cataloguing and considering. The retreat and return of warmth, in sensible enough ways; and how it moves up his arm, like being clasped around his forearm by one he hasn't met in some time.

Or by a stranger, he supposes, blinking and nearly missing the pulse at the horns. His lips quirk at that, and he nods in turn, carefully letting some of his qi flow through him and to his hand, placed against the statue's chest. He offers it outward, guided to the statue, but the way of this world doesn't mean that happens easily, or without effect.

"I've got a smaller supply than some of the people here," he says, by way of explanation and apology and warning all at once, "But if you don't mind smaller doses, I have enough to spare."