She does not mind the touch at all, smiles in pleasure as he touches. Her scales are hard but smooth under his touch, warm as her human skin would be.

"Very difficult to do anything delicate, like this," she tells him. "Yours are far more elegant, more subtle."

"The one who shot me?" she guesses. She kisses whatever part of him she can reach. "You did perfectly well, Skellig."

"I could take you out of sight of the village, show you my draconic shape. You, you ought to know, what I look like." There's an echo of worry about revealing that and she's not sure why.