Acelin’s fingers curled tenderly around the soft injured flesh. He bandaged the wound with care, his blue gaze impassive as you said nothing, sitting on the bed as the he bandaged you. Acelin wasn’t one to pry, he didn’t ask why you wore that hat that obscured your face nor did he ask why you’d been so reserved. Though you had been traveling together for a few weeks to the nation of Arcellano you hadn’t spoken much. The blonde cultivator didn’t pry, not at all.