They shake their head and delicately reach out to him with one clawed hand, hoping to inspect whatever may be there. They would really rather not - this level of intimacy, it's something they aren't used to with anybody, except perhaps the brothers when they might need it, but with Scy it feels...strange. Not quite wrong, but unfamiliar. There's something old, tired, and beaten deep inside them that responds to him in a way that reminds them a little too much of what they are, of how transient their being them might be. But they'll try to help him this time, if only because they're pretty certain it's their fault.
"No, I don't think it is. I, um." A moment's hesitation before they make contact. They're still very warm, but not as blazing hot as they have been. "If it was, I...don't think it would be affecting me. But never mind that, we should see what you're dealing with, since..."
They trail off, not entirely wanting to admit it's from them. Or at least not brave enough to put it into words.
His heart is beating frantically, painfully. He's not sure what's happening, and he's scared. Observing his chest leads to more than that, though - something is wrong with his systems. Even in his panicked state, his heart rate is gradually slowing. While one can hope it's from comfort, the truth is seldom so gentle.
His bark is more solid than its usual, petal-like texture, but no less smooth. Like polished marble, almost. He pants, trying desperately to draw air as his lungs grow firmer. Something presses against his back's flesh, and he tries weakly to tug at it. His movements are slower than usual.
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"No, I don't think it is. I, um." A moment's hesitation before they make contact. They're still very warm, but not as blazing hot as they have been. "If it was, I...don't think it would be affecting me. But never mind that, we should see what you're dealing with, since..."
They trail off, not entirely wanting to admit it's from them. Or at least not brave enough to put it into words.
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His bark is more solid than its usual, petal-like texture, but no less smooth. Like polished marble, almost. He pants, trying desperately to draw air as his lungs grow firmer. Something presses against his back's flesh, and he tries weakly to tug at it. His movements are slower than usual.