Emet-Selch looks between the two of them, his expression soft, briefly, before he allows some of the tension to fade, pushing it away from himself. He can allow this; the knowledge that the two people here he cares for the most are safe, they are unharmed, and they are content to enjoy one another's company. He could hardly be dissatisfied at that.

Shaking his head, he does what he can to try and feel less sour about the broadcasting of his emotions - as if either one of them was somehow unaware of the shape his feelings might have made previous to this.

"There are some who might inspire it simply by who they are and how they feel," he replies. He thinks, of course, of Elidibus, of Zenos, of the other Warriors. "But it is not as though I have made a great deal of friendships here. I am quite unlike the two of you."