Taras found his gaze drawn to Isaev's long, tapered fingers, watching Ilarion work loose the knot of silk with idle tugs.

"Okei," he said, quietly. His voice sounded strange.

Taras cleared his throat.

"You're right. Might as well, while we're thinking about it."

He shifted where he sat, leaning forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees.

"What did - " he started, breaking off with a scowl.

What did Barshai think, he'd almost asked.

Ilarion's eyes were keen behind low lids, watching him.

Taras shook himself.

"What did...you find, to keep it from drying out? Lotion or ointment or something like I said, right?"

He nodded.

"We kept everything real clean so it should have healed quick, no problems."