He felt like a teenage boy again, ridiculously excited at the burgeoning idea of girls, as though it were a brand new thing. He shouldn't be fluttering inside like this. He'd killed people, conducted dark and dangerous ritual magic, fought the dead and the living and beaten both. He was a tough, ugly, scarred man. Not a lovesick teenager. But that's how he felt. Dizzy, and joyously quivery, and light-headed, and lost, and so flustered he could hardly hold his head in place.