Malachi regarded her with an uncertain, only slightly off-focus gaze.

The scars that covered his body, from the base of his neck, to his wrists, to his ankles – it was bad enough for any glimpse of the curved designs to be seen, even without the mess of deep bitemarks and scrapes and everything else. And what about the long cut that ranged from shoulder to shoulder? The scraped skin at his wrists?

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he said, “alright. Just–”

Don’t ask questions, he wanted to say, but that would only bring more questions. He dismissed it with a shake of his head, and moved to stand.

The buttons of his cassock proved tricky with his bandaged hands. Malachi refused to look Nettie’s way as he shed the long, black garment, leaving him in the dark trousers he always wore beneath.

“So- maybe just-… the salve,” he said uselessly.