Alcuin thought back to all the times his master had touched him and wondered how often that must have crossed his mind. Scott touched him like one would touch an expensive piece of pottery, his fingers a mere suggestion at the small of his back, his hands warm and comforting wrapped around his own. His master had been eminently gentle in all things thus far and while it was difficult for him to imagine a time where that might not hold true, he had been wrong about such things in the past. Perhaps it was a much greater struggle than his own master would ever let him know? Derek certainly seemed disinclined to linger on the subject for too long.
He regarded the werewolf with a sympathetic slant to his eyes and quietly observed the brilliant blue glow of his eyes. They reminded him of clear blue skies, flawless sapphires, untouched beaches in forgotten lands; they were beautiful – and terrible, knowing what he knew. Still, he couldn't quite suppress the silent intake of breath at the sight. Were they always so arresting? “No,” he replied, swallowing heavily. “No sir – I have not.”
“I suspect that it might make him feel...” Alcuin searched for the right word for a moment. “... uncomfortable, to be looked upon in that way.” Especially when it had caused him to be driven from his home as though he were a nuisance – or a noisome animal, more like. It saddened him to think of how heartbroken his master must have been.