Unaware that he has an audience, Crozier unceremoniously starts washing himself with the flannel and the cooled water. He sighs quietly to himself; it feels good to be able to do this much on his own again.

He's hearing concern for the chill in Rama's protests, nothing else. "I'll be fine," he says, running the flannel over his shoulders and across the back of his neck. God, but that feels good, and he knows he's getting the thin film of grime off of his skin. "It won't take long at all."