Petra grins into Spokelse's neck; she looks young and small. Younger and smaller than she is--it's the strange contrast of the scar and the weathered skin and roughened feet, which ought to conspire to make her look older. Sometimes all they manage to do is offset how childish she still is: the awkwardness of her limps, the roundness of her cheeks. She looks too young to be offended by a man with his shirt off, anyway.
"Spokelse just waited by the door," she informs him. "Manners."
