[ Yes. No. He wants to know so badly, but he's terrified to know, too. Hope is so dangerous. The higher his hopes, the more painful the crash when they're inevitably let down.

He takes the cloak in his hands, although he doesn't move to put it on yet. There's no strange runes embedded in the leather, no magical glowing. Honestly, it's even plainer and uglier than the last one. It doesn't go with any of his outfits. ]

It could very well be the cloak, [ he says slowly, talking himself into it. And then, talking himself out of it: ] But it could also be a useless piece of junk.

[ Or worse, cursed. ]

But we won't know until we try, [ he reasons. ] But on the other hand, perhaps it's better not to know.

[ His eyes flick up to Iorveth, beseeching. Tell me what to do. ]