“I’ve been sitting in front of the fire sweating,” argues Crozier from his place at the basin.

He’s been more and more independent as of late, but still cautious, still afraid of a setback. If he does the wrong thing and inadvertently puts more time into this very long recovery period he might just go mad. He has been going mad, in fact, a silent stream of self-abusing thought running through his mind every time he even so much as looks at Rama with less-than-pure intentions.

But his mind is focused as he starts to strip his top layers away - he’s in desperate need of a scrub up after spending all day drying out fish and hanging herbs; he can smell the smoke lingering on his skin now, in his hair. No, he needs this little bath, it’s all about practicality at the moment.

“Besides, you know I don’t get as cold as you do,” he adds, lathering up a flannel with a a sliver of soap. He’s bare from the waist up, the lower half he’ll less concerned with today.