"...There. Try to settle, will you? Didn't mean to give you a shock."

He lingers. He's not sure why, but he's doing it on purpose, leaving his hand where it is, staying where he is instead of drawing away like he might have a while ago. Something in him is telling him to, so he stays. Probably it's the same thing that drove him to Dirtmouth.

Lemm tilts his head, breaking uncertain eye contact to peer down at them. There's little he can see unless he asks them to remove the cloak. He doesn't want to do that, either.

He settles for plucking some fragments from the material with his other hand, sort of gingerly dusting them down a bit. Actions of a bug who does not really know what to do with himself. (Shellwood splinters, pale dust. Lemm can say little of it, but his shell crawls.)

"...Does anything hurt?"