Just leave it there? Let this dear man have to wash the shine of blood from his feet? His blood? Ravus thinks to protest. He couldn't possibly burden Ignis with this, shouldn't- but the heat of his hand on his arm immediately quiets the thoughts, and the guilt silences any verbal means to protest. He's being rude now, is he?

"My apologies," Ravus murmurs, following the first step away from the river before pausing. He looks over his shoulder at his coat and his greaves. "If I agree to come home with you, will you let me at least finish the washing?"