The blood on his chest and stomach was so thick it's congealed into a crust, and he takes the soap finally and scrubs hard at it until it comes loose.

"I'm all right," he grunts, though he still has hand on her, steadying himself. Little by little he comes clean.

He feels foolish holding onto her and makes himself let go. "You said there were clothes?" If not he supposes they can wash these pants.