[there's a soft exhale, a breath koby hadn't realized he'd been holding. his shoulders bow in a little, relaxed, a touch shy now. the broad warmth of harry's hands is soothing, calming -- he doesn't flinch, doesn't shy away from the once-gnarled wounds.]

In a manner of speaking. I mean -- I paid for them. I used to use bandages instead, but it got too hard to breathe while doing my chores, so. I bribed a surgeon in a port. [the words make him wince, even now, remembering knives and the scent of rum and his teeth clamped into a belt so he wouldn't scream.] More of a butcher, really. It was the best I could afford.

[a pause, then koby nods, squaring his shoulders back so it's easier to see -- he recognizes that glint of curiosity in harry's eyes, finds it endearing, actually. it's the same reaction he'd have.] You can touch. I can't really feel much on the scars themselves.