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[unnecessaryflourishes]

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[unnecessaryflourishes]

For all that Emet-Selch knows the house he has claimed as his own more than well, after nearly half a year spent in it, he doesn't notice the book right away. Indeed, it's not until some time after the peace summit that he happens upon it, tucked halfway out of sight. And yet... when he does, oh, what surprise. So much so that he can scarce believe it, as he draws it carefully out from under the mug that had hidden it.

It takes no more than the sight of the cover alone for him to realize what it is. To know, too, who has left it for him to find - other than he himself, there is but one person who would so carefully resurrect a fragment of the days before the world had been split into fourteen shards and leave it somewhere he could find it. As a no more or less than a gift, for it can be nothing else. Not from his oldest friend.

For a long moment, he simply stands there, fingers tracing across the covers with something like a gentle reverence. For the fragment that has been returned to him. For the care with which Hythlodaeus has made it and returned it to him, after the long millennia he has spent with only the fallen fragments of their home, and the ruins that had been left behind.

It takes longer before he dares to open it. In fear, perhaps, that the contents will not be as grand as the cover, or that there will be something amiss that might mar that which has already been offered. But in the end curiosity wins out, and when he finds that it is in their own long-forgotten language rather than the Garlean or Eorzean he expects he cannot help but the soft noise that escapes him - one of relief, and wonder, and the almost bittersweet realization that he has missed seeing written Amaurotine more than he might have thought possible, and it's all he can do to simply stay standing. Nor does he say more. He's not sure he could, given that the sheer force of his emotions has him all but stunned.