Being mother-henned like this is a new and strange experience for him. It isn't offensive enough to bounce off her too hard, beyond a mildly petulant side-eye. He'd been living on his own for years now, he didn't need to be told what to eat.

"Got a bit wet."

His hair is drenched and plastered to his head, if she needed any guess as to how carefully his dunk into the baths went. The neckline of the shirt was wide enough to see some of the dressing over his shoulder, and the strip was mottled with the dry, dark splotches of old blood.

"I can change the dressing myself. I've done it before."

From there, he lifts the bowl of porridge up to finish it up with a loud slurp. He didn't rush to eat, but everything offered would vanish off its plate. He seemed to particularly enjoy the savory dumplings and the extra flavor the onion provided them, the stern look on his face alleviated every time he savored the taste. A prepared meal like this was a rarity enough to enjoy it all while he could.

Aside from satisfying his apetite, he could feel the dizzy pressure on his head finally abating a little with a full stomach.