"That's the best I can do."  Jake stepped back, looking over Ephraim's back critically.  The once-gaping wounds had been reduced to scars, but those scars would likely never fade.

[color=a187be]"You do like getting in trouble, Ephraim."[/color]  Ephidel's eyes were cool, impersonal; Gaea's son had the perfect poker face.  [color=a187be]"I sometimes wonder if you've been cursed."[/color]

Ephraim chuckled, the sound dry and humorless.  [color=9e0039]"Me, too."[/color]  It was hardly ever that he kept his shirt off for longer than necessary to shower, and he made a point of not looking.  Here, in the healer's cabin, was the only place he allowed himself to actually [i]see[/i] himself.
Most people assumed that he insisted on teaching the old ways of combat because of his mother.  That was part of it, but not the only reason.  Of all the many wounds he had received over the years, only three of his scars were made by bullets.  There were far more from bladed weapons, and four from arrows.  Quite a few were from monster attacks, when he couldn't handle something and went to the woods for release.
Standing, Ephraim took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  Once again, he counted all his visible scars, adding the  three new ones to the already substantial total.  It was a depressingly high number.