She buried her face into his chest, hiding the blush that darkened her cheeks once she understood his joke. "Not even in jest, Erthe," Primrose whispered softly. "You are worth so much more than I can put into words. Boring is the last thing you are my friend. You are a friend, a protector, a comforter, a man and above all else," at this she lifted her head to look him in the eye again, her own twinkling back at him, "a personal self-warming cushion."