Stavanger Bay is it the sea you hear in me, its dissatisfactions?

There was a fretful urgency as her emerald gaze roamed his figure. He was not ashamed of the wounds themselves, for they were a sign of a vicious fight, and echoed the truth of how fortunate he was to be alive and well. Still, the thick and jagged gashes along his shoulder would be certain to scar. The chunk that had been ripped from the bridge of his muzzle still bled from time to time. Even the limbs that had taken the brunt of the bear’s force had quivered with the pressure of carrying his weight. The swarthy beast was not a man of weakness, though, and he would not have admitted to such things. Nevertheless, the eyes of a healer saw all, and she politely inquired if she would be allowed to examine him.
 
The wraith’s crown dropped downward in response. It was a motion of apathy – he did not care if she wished to view the marks against his stiff frame. Deirdre was a healer, but he feared that she could not tend to the wounds of his soul and the bitterness that had taken house there.