She beams back up at him.

He grins.

She looks at his scales and so on assessingly.

"Can I hug you?"

He blinks. His tail goes still.

"I'm not sure I - I still break paintbrushes sometimes," he says.

"...Ah.

That sounds like a logistical challenge but not an insurmountable one if we really want to."

"...well, I guess," he says, hesitantly.

"If you stay really still and I do the hugging that should be safe."

"All right."

She--hugs him around the leg, because that's what she can reach.

He stays very still.

He's warm; the scales apparently don't make him cold-blooded.

Mm.

She lets go after a few minutes.

He smiles down at her again.

"That was nice! You're really warm."

He laughs. "Am I?"

"Yeah. The scales made me wonder if you would be cold like a lizard but you're really not."

"It's true, I am not a lizard," he agrees.

"Lizards' scales aren't as pretty as yours."

"Suppose not."

"I could hug more than just your leg if you sat down."

"...that is true," he agrees.

He sits down, hugging his knees to his chest and curling his tail around himself. It makes a full circle on the floor.

She hugs him.

She can hug approximately one shoulder or arm at a time. He is large.

The scales vary in size and texture: tiny and more like a lizard's pebbled skin at the joints or other places where the skin needs to be flexible, broad and hard over the tops of his shoulders. The edges are never sharp, though they sometimes look it. His hair, if she touches that, is very soft.

Ooh. Soft.

After another few minutes she lets go again and smiles at him.

He smiles back.

"It'd be nice if you could hug back but the paintbrush thing is a fair point," she sighs.