There are few people that Atreus tolerates touching him, as a matter of course. He's survived too many assassination attempts to be anything but cautious, mapping out the radius of those he trusts in fractional degrees, but Ize lies within that particular circle. He returns the embrace in a firm press of camaraderie, and perhaps Ize will notice the new slim lashings of muscle in his own arms.

He's almost out of his juvenile plumage, the tiniest traces of youthful feathers clustered at the fringes of his face, silky greys giving way to gleaming adult blacks that shine iridescent in better qualities of sunlight than they have here. They rise slightly as he chuckles affably at Ize's insinuation about how much class he's missed.

"No, but since when have you needed a warning?" He watches the drift of armor with the plain interest he always has for them, shifting tone to match as he speaks. "And what if I promised you something more satisfying to chew on than your sweet forest leaves, hm?"