The water around them is far less clear than when they started, but bit by bit the gunk of the battle is coming free of their bodies. Dimly, she thinks that she should be doing something productive, like scrubbing at the parts of herself that she can reach. But she's helpless from the sensation of Harrow's fingers on her scalp. She's hypnotized, paralyzed, unwound. Her eyes slip close and her shoulders slump, not with dark unconscious, but with the warm wonder of the moment.