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Thomas had, perhaps, picked the perfect task. At the very least, he'd picked one of them, another being sewing, but that was more complex. Unlike the feather, she found the comb's weight with little difficulty. Though it wasn't her comb, she knew the feel it would have, had it been held in her fingertips, knew the light pressure of its weight. So, while she had a bit more difficulty with the increased weight, its movements were not nearly so erratic as the feather's had been.

Of course, there was a lot more too this action, but it was so simple, so familiar. Earako could dance through the steps, or do it dreaming. She closed her eyes, to focus, her breathing losing some of its measured care, as she focused all her control on the comb. It reached her head, touched her hair and shuddered as she tried to direct it down instead of up. She got the hang of that after a moment, though the comb dipped wildly away from her before she got it back under control.

There wasn't actually much to brush, Earako kept herself immaculately groomed, but she went through the motions. The brush ran through her hair, dipping and bobbing but doing it, and then fell back to the table.