Unfortunately, Glacius does not know enough about how his energies interact with Carlisle's magic to realize that the human is in the process of flying high as a kite; that hint of a smile gets interpreted as simply an expression of relief from his persistent aches and pains, so the alien actually feels... rather accomplished. Retracting the ice from his hands again, he wets the washcloth and gets to work, scrubbing gently at everything that's caked onto the clergyman's face and neck before he sits back and rinses the bloodied fabric.

Next he tackles what blood and ink had soaked through Carlisle's garments to stain his skin, rubbing gentle circles over the man's chest. This would be much easier if the human could simply liquefy his outer skin to let everything run off, Glacius thinks, but he doesn't mind the extra work. In fact, it's actually... rather soothing, not only because having his hands on the clergyman's chest allows him to feel his unbothered breathing--much better than that hacking and coughing and choking from before--but also because he looks much better when he's not covered in blood and dirt. It's easier to believe that he's on his road to recovery...

"Let me know if anything hurts," the ice alien murmurs quietly, moving his hand slightly lower to continue working.