with a reverence unimpaired

Indeed as she speaks a rosy picture seems to appear around them. It isn't so much an image though, as it is the feeling that Amalia is describing. It is the pureness of the memory itself and it tangles around the pair like golden smoke. Every now and then the tulmhainar interjects to ask a clarifying question or to beg for more detail. Sometimes it is simple things—the description of someone's voice—other times though, his requests are strange—what colour was the bedding? how many paces to the door?—and with each narrative mouthful the tulmhainar seemed to appear younger somehow. Healthier.