"That's it," Glacius encourages, his gill coverings nearly sealed shut and his one remaining mandible tucked tightly against his jaw line—all the body language that speaks to how his hearts feel like they've jumped up into his throat. He can feel them pounding like heavy drums, so desperate to not be forgotten... which means that Carlisle will easily be able to feel their strong and steady—if not slightly elevated, now—rhythm when his hand reaches the alien's chest. It takes a moment due to the alien's consternation over this whole situation, but the ice there does eventually ripple back, exposing pale and sinuous flesh to the cleric's palm.

"Is... is this helping..?" Glacius asked in a hushed tone, the Mote wavering with his worry. Wanting to do more, the ice alien gradually lowers his head towards Carlisle and turns it to the side so that the scars that have ruined it face him. He knows that caressing that old, gnarled mass of scarring has helped his partner feel connected to him in the past... he doesn't know if the clergyman will remember what they mean or where they came from when he's in this state, he just knows he has to try.