Her brow knitted together, and she cast the shadow a confused and speaking glance. For moments the priestess wondered if her lord had lost his mind, perhaps. What did a sponge have to do with her dragon? Was he sending jabs at her for asking something of him? Was he displeased with her?
Her bath would continue, though the sage's brow never unfurrowed. She doesn't bother with a sponge or cloth, instead using soap and hands over the arch of a curved neck, the slender turn of shoulder, the graceful length of a limb or the petite curvature of torso. Though dainty of bone structure, the canvas of form still measured an hourglass.
She finished the bath quickly, likely moreso than she usually might have. She stood from the water with a supple grace, water sluicing from her skin. She was thankful for the muting of the sounds of the bath. She wrapped the heated towel around her hair first, bending to get the water from the pool of silk. She stepped onto another towel on the floor, flipping the damp hair back over her shoulder.
In an unconscious display of pride, her chin lifted slightly, but the towel wrapped about her. Her skin is bare of all hair but for that on her head, the water drying quickly in the heat of the fire. The towel managed to cover her from just under her arms to her midthigh. She kneeled, letting the heat of the flames dry her hair. It put her silhouetted against the firelight.
She remains silent during this process, as she's unsure what she should say. Once she does speak, it's hesitant, unsure. "Should I apologize, my lord? Have I given you cause for displeasure? Your words confuse me." She offers softly. It doesn't even dawn on her other possibilities.