Anvar spots the tatty cloak when he enters his home, and guesses from the murmurs of conversation from below that they are in the kitchen. He hangs his own cloak up and goes downstairs. "Oh, uncle, hello," he says, on finding that he's correct in his guess as to the visitor. Invarioneth looks up from the small round table. "Anvar," he says, and pauses for a moment. "I came to ask for your assistance." "You want my help?" What on earth with? "It is to do with retrieving a book," Invarioneth says, pushing to his feet. "If you are willing?" "Yes, of course," Anvar says, a warm feeling running through him. "I'll just get my cloak." He hurries off, and Inric glances at Merianethel, who has been smiling serenely throughout. "There's no obligation 'twixt oak and acorn," she murmurs.