Gadreel frowns and is clearly ready to protest until Balthazar relents and settles in beside him. Their vessels are warm, their grace sustaining them for at least the moment. “We should rest for now. If our fall hasn’t drawn attention now, then perhaps we have escaped notice for the moment.” An arm drapes around him as he draws Balthazar’s lean vessel against his broader one. The physical comfort is almost as pleasant as when they had tangled their wings together in prison. Reassurance without words. “After we rest, we will look for supplies. Food.”

His grace is scraped raw and aching, but for now intact. “We should also conserve our power. I do not know how long it will last, but it may prove useful in an emergency.”