Gale's eyes snap to the arranged items with the intensity of an alcoholic asked whether he would like whiskey or vodka. The answer is yes, yes, anything, yes but he purses his lips and keeps that to himself.

"Ah, any of these would do well." He hovers his hand over each of the items, but does not touch, though his fingers have a slight tremble. "The bag seems the strongest of the lot, but I should also point out that anything given cannot be returned. The items will be destroyed. Well, it would be more accurate to say they will be divested of their magic. They'll still exist. The gloves, for example, could still keep you warm, but they would lose any magical properties."

Gale folds his hands in his lap again, like they can't be trusted to wander free, and returns his gaze to Harley. It doesn't quite give him a start, but he is surprised and ashamed that her appearance was the second thing he focused on. She doesn't explain, so he doesn't ask.