"How are you feeling?" Tristan asks as he rubs his cheek with his hand, "Does anything hurt? How are your wounds?"
"I'm okay. I don't think I have any wounds," Ava says as she inspects her hands.
"You have a few on both hands and your feet and legs," he said as he got out of bed, "let me apply some ointment on your wounds."
"No, no, I can do it myself," she said as she sat up.
"Give me your hand," he said. Her hands were badly scraped, but they were healing nicely, her elbows looked better. He inspected up and down her arms, applying ointment as he went. None of her wounds looked like they would leave a scar.
His ministrations were giving her goosebumps and were making her very aware of how gentle his hands were when he applied the medicine.
"Put your feet up on my lap, there's more on your legs," he commanded and she was too mesmerized to disagree.
He started inspecting her feet, "Tristan stop!" she said.
