"What's that..?" Glacius murmurs, not quite understanding what Carlisle is referring to, though he accepts the contact readily. That particular touch has come to mean so much to him, after all--solidarity, support, comfort, acceptance, and belonging. The latter is a rarity for him too, given that he was an alien being trapped in a strange land, cut off from everything that he once knew or held dear...

... Well, he has other things that are deeply important to him now, new faces that he's met that have helped to stave off the hardships of life in this cave. One of them is sitting right before him, and the ice alien feels a powerful urge to return all of the positive emotions that he's being nourished with by Carlisle's careful touch... so he initiates one of his own, mirroring the clergyman's gesture by placing the washcloth to the side and letting his own bare fingers trail gradually down his middle until they arrive at those dark violet scars. He can't exactly cup the skinny human's flat stomach the same way his jaw is being held, but he does traces slow, gentle lines over them, allowing the contact they're sharing to consume his focus.

The scars may be a sore point for Carlisle, but they made him who he is today... and Glacius would not trade that person for anything.