Jeron sighed. The entire time Chamera had been scrutinizing him, he wished he could crawl into a hole, or climb up a tree, or go somewhere so as to not be stared at. Like with most social gestures, staring typically did not mean anything positive to Jeron, so he felt uneasy with her eyes on him. He tugged at his hood with his free hand, wishing he had a means to conceal his face completely. He thought himself ugly and knew others viewed him a monster. In fact, the only one who had never minded his looks was Maura....

Jeron moved cautiously by Chamera's side, dropping to a crouch in front of her. He took her arm, holding it delicately by the wrist. What was he doing anyway? Since when did he help another in this way? His gaze flickered up to her face for a moment, panic in his brown eyes, and he almost let her go, almost retreated back to his original spot by the fire. He gulped, inwardly clinging to his nerve, and forced himself to look back down at Chamera's arm. If he couldn't get through this simple task, how was he ever going to learn magic from her? He needed to focus.

He frowned, realizing that Chamera's wound wasn't really that deep at all, and then scowled upon knowing that he had put himself unnecessarily in this dreadfully awkward situation. He was already in this nonsense of being nice to someone; he might as well follow through. "This will sting," he muttered dryly. "It is a disinfectant, not a healant, so you should wash it off in a day, especially since I didn't use water to grind this down."

Unceremoniously, he pressed the goop of chewed plant on Chamera's arm and began to smear it across the wound with his gloved fingers. He tried his best to work quickly, not wanting to hold her arm any longer than necessary. He did not seem to notice how his hands trembled, though slightly, while helping her.

Chamera had remarked on not meeting many other half elves. Jeron wanted to stare, to observe the physical evidence of her claim himself, but he didn't want to be caught staring. He had always observed others from a distance, safely concealed, and he wished he could do so now. Instead, he took in snatches of detail from an occasionally flickering gaze. She dressed human, looked human... Ah, but the ears always gave it away. He wondered what happened with her left ear, but pretended not to notice. And the slight slant of the eyes... Jeron was careful  not to make direct eye contact, though he was fascinated by the color of her eyes.

"I've... never met many other half elves either," he admitted when he dropped his gaze a last time, noting other scars on her skin. This sparked his curiosity; was she also a pariah to others? He wanted to ask, surprising himself with how excited he was at the notion of possibly meeting a kindred spirit of sorts, but he kept that excitement subdued under a persisting scowl, killing the thought before it could form into audible questions. Of course she wasn't. "You're not half drow," he blurted out, and inwardly scolded himself for making such a thoughtless, obvious statement.

Jeron let go of Chamera's arm, returning briskly to his spot by the fire. He didn't bother asking if she had other wounds that needed tending to, feeling relieved just to gain this few feet of space between them. "What I meant to say is that... well, it's just... the circumstances with your parents... they must have been..." He released a heavy sigh, not sure how to politely ask what she was half of. He hated social etiquette. He grabbed his bag, rummaging through the foliage he had gathered, determined to find a way to distract himself from his foolishness.