Throughout their conversation, McCree has studiously avoided looking at anyplace aside from Serene's face. To his eyes, she's a young girl--a pretty girl, to be sure, with hair lovely as the full moon itself--but not someone to consider in any romantic context. His gaze has not strayed, and he has little interest in doing so.

"I meant the flame you was conjurin' earlier," he says, his slow enunciation as gentle as ever. He grabs the soap with one hand and offers a little salute with the other. As she dresses, he's going to slip into the water.