No sharp bones. No starvation. His coat was thick and clean beneath her fingers. But up close, she saw what distance had hidden. A dullness around the edges of his expression. Not illness. Not neglect. Fatigue. The kind that settled deep. “You’re tired,” she murmured.
He leaned into her slightly more, and for the first time since she’d turned around, she felt his weight shift — not protective, not poised — just heavy. Her hand moved to his flank and found the thin ridge of a healed surgical scar. Professional stitching. Clean recovery. “You’ve been cared for,” she said quietly.