A small smile tugged at the corners of Qebhet's lips. "I try not to," she said. Satisfied with the salve, she reached for a strip of gauze and began winding it around Much's hand.
She'd felt a small shudder pass through him at the first touch of the ointment, seen the way he'd closed his eyes with a quiet sigh, as though he, too, was letting go of a tension he hadn't wanted to admit to. Perhaps it was that which emboldened her to broach the subject. "I hope, the other night, that I didn't..." Qebhet paused in her ministrations, Much's hand still cradled in hers, half-wrapped. She raised her eyes to his. "That is... I know I was sending mixed signals."