The wings seem - right, some how. Like he'd always had them. She remembered very well she had been told of Angels. Common enough stories from her Muslim soldiers. Some good, some bad. Some impossible sort of absolutes. She blinks slow, watching him. The sound of his footsteps, the cool lull of water that splashes as she shifts to hold her hand up for the soap.

"All of it." Her fingers curl lightly around the soap and she pushes herself straight to lift the soap and out stretches and arm, running it over herself in slow gestures. "Was it in battle?"