Galathiir watched Yulia’s hips sway enticingly after she got up, leaving him uncovered except for his lower leg. Sitting up, he figures he should follow her lead. He stands and runs his fingers through his tangled locks as he leaves the lee of the boulder, his hair falling clean and well-combed after the prestidigitation he wove. Finding his own spot to water, he stretches while half-yawning/half-roaring while those behind him at the campsite might see his stream arc to mirror his back. When he’s done, he shakes and cleans himself of the voluminous remains of the last evening’s recreation as he did his hair.<br/><br/>He makes his way back to the camp, taking a plate and joining the ladies sitting next to Yulia and facing opposite. “You know, I hate to see leave but I love to watch you walk away,” he earnestly offers the old line with a knowing smirk. “May I?” he asks reaching up for her hair before he runs his fingers through it, nails lightly scratching at her scalp. As they pass through, her hair shines with a healthy glow and returns to its luxurious falls. He looks past her to ask, “Lyssa?” of his selfsame adventuring companion.<br/>