Ishamael sat nearby cross-legged as if nothing were the matter. She was far more decently attired clad in warm water and bubbles, than in Graendal's gauze and oil. Not that there was not something alluring about either. The scent of lavender contrasted the jasmine scent that hung in the air. It would take quite awhile for that to disappear given how much and how concentrated the oil had been.

Saying nothing, Ishamael sat there calmly not watching anything in particular.