And his feet were very nearly cut right back out from under him again.

Sometimes, he forgot. The scars on his face and striped over different parts of his body never fully faded, but had been part of himself for so long that sometimes they were put out of mind entirely until something drew his attention to them. Rarely by someone else. But it'd be his eyes catching one in the mirror. Maybe an odd twinge when it was about to storm.

"For better or worse, I suppose," he admits quietly, his eyes for a moment finding some glint of light across the wall to hold their attention.

The Dark Urge was hardly without mark himself, unsurprising given who he was. For the both of them it hardly detracted from any real beauty. Enver himself drew an appreciative eye, even as he was getting on in years. So it wasn't a vanity thing, not usually. Most paid it little mind, a sign someone had been living.

But they are reminders, and not his mementos, not really.

Again, eye contact. With more certainty in his voice. "And unlike this, not something I'd a mind to ask for."