It is easy, without question, to hold on to Hythlodaeus and offer him warmth and comfort. It would be so even if they were not in the midst of the chaos brought on by the train and the Void, because he knows his spirit and his soul as well as he knows his own. Hythlodaeus was another part of him, a missing fragment that had been gone for too long, and Emet-Selch is only now beginning to recover from that loss, that grief.

It is easy to let himself hold on, to settle into the embrace, to feel his dearest friend there, because to do anything else would be near enough a betrayal of his very self.

"I could not forget, even in the great distance between us. I could never forget."

His voice is hoarse, and soft, and he grips Hythlodaeus all the tighter even as he speaks.

"Oh?" There is, perhaps, a waver in his voice, a hint of concern, of worry - that what he feels in his heart is broadcast so surely, without his words professing it. A side effect, perhaps, on the strangeness of the train or only Hythlodaeus' Sight. "You read me like a book, even now. I can hide nothing from you."

He does not register the magnitude of the moment.