He grips himself tightly with her lead, and it helps, just a little, to have all of him accounted for. It's something he can ground himself with—evidence that he's in one piece. He starts to draw long, shaky breaths, willing his nerves to calm.

Eventually, his breathing starts to slow to something more normal. He lets out a weary sigh and allows himself to sink back into the soft cushion. He lifts his other body up to rest it across his chest, gripping the edge of the blade lightly with the hand not on the hilt in a sort of half-hug. He's safe. He's still confused, and frightened, but he doesn't want to dwell on it. He doesn't want to think about it at all. The unpleasant thoughts and feelings are pushed back into the dark corners of his mind.

And then he finally remembers that the forge is still there. The hand on his shoulder is a bit unnerving, considering the circumstances, but he doesn't try to shake her off besides glancing at it nervously (what does he know, maybe trying to push her hand off would activate her creepy metal-melting powers again).

"Um." He swallows, his throat uncomfortably dry. Between his pauses he relights his crown of flames and bends his knees a little, testing out his recovery. "I'm fine. Sorry."