Eskel's shirt gives up on its weary, coming apart all down the front along a mend he'd done the previous winter. In the moment, he doesn't mind, laughing as he catches himself on his elbow. His chest his broad and muscular and mapped out in a half century of violence on his skin. There's obviously animal injuries--claws and teeth-- as well as those of human blades. The worst seems to be a series of stab wounds just under the arc of his ribcage the same age and lurid red as his facial scar.

"You gonna get down here with me or what?" He rasps, arching his back as he unlaces his trousers. "Seems unfair that you're the only one who gets to touch."