Enver feels a band of anxiety grow tight within him when the restraints are affixed on his wrists. Too near to remembering when their like were last there -- the immediate rush of panic and anger when he awoke on that altar? There's something about them that doesn't feel the same way as the cage. All the same, without his hands fixed at his sides, there is still more freedom of movement. He's not nearly immobile.

Little time to consider that, when first he hears the Dark Urge's beckoning voice and then is roughly shoved in that direction. It threatens to take him off balance -- he hasn't stood in days -- but he manages to recover. The guards are quick to make themselves scarce, more certainty that their master did not joke when he made promises of pain if they were to fail.

And very quickly, Gortash is alone in the room with him again, not hesitating to obey once he had his balance again. The mark on his hand is mostly healed, so he is favoring it far less now, but he keeps his wrists close to his body but not against it, affording himself what warmth he can by having his arms nearer him, but careful not to let the metal touch too much.

You offered this. Don't lose your nerve or these may never come off.

He comes to stand before the Dark Urge, careful both to hold his gaze and how he did that. There's less challenge in his stance, and he might let his eyes wander, but never fully dropping.

He hates the feeling, part of him wondering if the bhaalspawn will touch him, the other still frighteningly aware of how easily and how likely he is to be stricken. The human has to tell himself that he craves warmth and that is all. But then the wandering, following his hands, taking in the broad shape of him. His imagination is starting to fill in blanks, and every new image would have felt like scandal before -- he remembers to breathe.