Even if Erskine had tried to hide it, he would have failed. Most days, the way Erskine looked at Hopeless felt like a ray of sunshine. It always had, in some ways, but now it was with awareness. It was almost blinding, in its own way, and Hopeless hadn't meant to call attention to it. The fact that he had made Hopeless blush faintly as well, even as he glanced back to watch Erskine's. Erskine's blushes were far too rare not to take advantage of looking at them.

"You may or may not think that in a minute," Hopeless said, still smiling as he led Erskine into the 'bower', stopping at the door and motioning at his gift with a flourish. "Ta-da."

It was a loom, the full-sized sort--and not the mechanical kind. Larger than the journeyman's loom Erskine had lost so long ago, fit for anything up to good sizes; made of strong timber, with leather trappings and strings so glossy they shimmered. Hopeless had been at it already, because engraved in Irish on the timber, facing where Erskine would sit, was a blessing.

"May the blessing of the rain be on you—
the soft sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit
so that all the little flowers may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.
May the blessing of the great rains be on you,
may they beat upon your spirit
and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there many a shining pool
where the blue of heaven shines,
and sometimes a star."