Love according to (antagonist) Braph:

“Do you know when the seeds for our belief in love get planted?”

He was serious. Llew swallowed, as fascinated by the ravings of a madman as she might be to watch a poisonous spider crawl across a sleeping body.

“It's in the way our parents dote on us. Not just us, each other. In those early years when they show us there is no safer place to fall than their arms.” Braph turned to the forest, his eyes seeing something only he could see. “I knew love because my parents loved each other, and my mother loved me. I can barely remember her.” He looked at Llew again. “She died when I was little over three years, but I remember how I felt in those arms, the miracle of those kisses. I don't blame my sister for killing her.” He returned to his reverie. “A babe can't help the circumstances of its birth, but I'll never forget the change in that house the day Aris brought Jonas's mother to meet our father. It was a match made for a purpose, and they served their purpose. And that woman was proud of their creation. She talked of what a great hero he would be, how strong, how fast, how powerful. Sometimes, as she told Jonas how great he would one day be, she would look up at our father and see before her the man she wanted her son to be, and for a moment, she felt something for him. I remembered my mother looking at him like that. But my mother had never needed to talk herself into it.” He peered at her again, his eyes boring into her. “Jonas has never known love for simply being, only for being Syakaran. What do you think—” He leaned his elbow on the cart. “—would happen if that were taken away? What would Quaver think of him then?”

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“I’m sorry for bein’ such an ass,” he murmured. “Or, what was it, an arse?”

Llew couldn’t help herself. She laughed. So strange to hear his mimic of her accent, and bizarre how wrong it sounded to her ears. Still, she could have some fun with it. “You know an ass is a donkey, right? This—” She stepped back a bit and spread the fingers of one hand over one cheek of his trousers. “This is an arse.” She stepped back up beside him, keeping her hand in place. “I like your arse,” she whispered.

Jonas smiled at her and his own hand came to rest on her trousers. “I like your ass, too.” He smirked and winked as his fingers gave a slight squeeze.

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“I vowed to die for my country,” Hisham said.

“Yes. Fighting Aenuks. And what of your vow when you die protecting an Aenuk?”

In the glance Hisham afforded her, Llew saw none of the hostility that normally resided there. Replacing it was a new resolve.

“I've discovered a certain plasticity to the concept of right.” Hisham turned back to Braph. “And you, my man, are not it.”

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"What do you reckon you'd do if you were stronger and faster than everyone and knew you'd live another thousand years?”
“I'd say I'd be pretty satisfied with my lot,” said Ard. “My home satisfies my needs, and I have my best friend to see me through the quiet times.” He threw a smile up at Merrid who returned a warm one over her shoulder. “Stronger and faster, you say? I s'pose that'd make the farming a little easier.”
“Ah, Ard.” Jonas rocked back in his seat, his eyes sparkling. “Reckon the world would be a better place if it had more men like you in it.”
Llew smiled to think of the farmer as an Immortal. She believed he truly would be satisfied to live his extended life just as he did now.
Ard stood again, lifted the lid on the pot, stirred its contents, lined up three metal cups, and poured a measure of the rich brown liquid. “Cream?”

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