It's not the first time they're seeing each other in person. That'd happened briefly at the camps when the search team had finally found them. It'd been as short as that moment in Horizon though, with so much going on around them.

Now in her room, he's brought a tray of tea. It's a Nocwich brew, something unfamiliar to both of them, its flavors earthy and bitter. He sets it down at the table next to her bed before sitting on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle her too hard.

"I have something else for you," he says, a hint of sadness to his smile. He could not be there to look after her when she was taken, being so far away, but now - it seems as good a chance as ever. No one is keeping close watch over weapons, not when everyone has been allowed to carry them. And from inside his cloak he pulls something out, placing it next to her on the bed. It's small, more like a shiv than a dagger, a bit of leather wound around the bottom for grip. The blade itself isn't very sharp - pointed at the tip for thrusting and stabbing - and it's dark black, which might seem odd since it's clearly made of bone.

He lowers his voice and leans closer.

"Keep it hidden. And don't strike with it unless you mean to kill the one you cut. It's cursed, and will bring death to anyone wounded with it within a day or two, unless they have a cure."

This is his only curse blade. He'll make another for himself, soon, but this one he gives to her - one of the few people here who might understand its meaning. All ushiri carry one.