[A part of her, fleeting, considers the idea of retreating out of this situation. However, she's a woman of her word. Always has been. Always will be, if she has anything to say about it. She waits, playing through different hypotheticals in her head where he's concerned as she reaches for the cloth and soap she was using before.
Faced with his back, she pauses for several long moments. The scarring there is intricate. She could just as easily not look. Not ask. But as she nears him, she hesitates a touch. Those aren't unfamiliar marks. Not to say she's ever really seen them before, but she can, at the very least, recognise them. Know their source.
...Does... he know what they say? Does he know what they are? Maybe it's better not to bring it up. So instead, she leaves a hand at his shoulder and with the other, she tends to him, about as careful and reverent as she would be with any other touch.]
no subject
Faced with his back, she pauses for several long moments. The scarring there is intricate. She could just as easily not look. Not ask. But as she nears him, she hesitates a touch. Those aren't unfamiliar marks. Not to say she's ever really seen them before, but she can, at the very least, recognise them. Know their source.
...Does... he know what they say? Does he know what they are? Maybe it's better not to bring it up. So instead, she leaves a hand at his shoulder and with the other, she tends to him, about as careful and reverent as she would be with any other touch.]
You're a bit softer than I thought you might be.
[To the touch, she means.]