[ These are kind words; perhaps the kindest he's ever heard from Gilgamesh. His mind is only slightly muddled with drink; such things take a great deal of effort on his part, after all. As such, he listens carefully. As Gil talks, Koltira considers lynx; possible names run like a marquee through the back of his head (something positive, something to suggest hope).

When Gil takes his wrist, he doesn't tug away. The other man's fingers are comforting; soft. Not sensations that Koltira dislikes; that he has ever disliked. He relaxes in this grip. ]

... thank you, Gilgamesh. Your words mean much.

[ Particularly given the long road it took to get here. ]

I will do the same for you.

[ He can sense that there is a deep wrongness in Gilgamesh right now, though he doesn't know how to correct it. Perhaps he can't. But he can offer a true, simple response. ]

Do not hesitate to call on me, should you require it.