Zevran lay back on the blanket, one hand mostly shielding his eyes from the sunlight, the other idly tracing lines of scars across Dal's bare skin. It was a strange game that people seemed to play sooner or later, but was most enjoyable played in the nude – the game was tell me about your scars. Although Zevran generally preferred I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
They were taking turns. There had been the expected – genlocks, bandits, jealous lovers – and the unexpected: "And then she hit me with the frying pan full of sizzling bacon. See the grease burns right here?"
Instead of choosing a scar this time, Dal asked, "Which is your favorite?"
Zevran lay still, soaking up the sun and considering one mark after another before the right answer came to him. He grinned and moved his hand to be able to see Dal's face. "It's the one you didn't give me the first time I suggested you needed a massage."