[He can see those clenched fists, with smears of blood over her fingers. He closes his hand halfway, turning it to gesture to himself.]

I went through the same thing you did. [Because he has to be all mysterious about it. He looks over his shoulder as his wings unfurl some, to show her.] Except I got these from the places I itched from. When I scratched, it just made everything hurt more.

[He had a nasty experience trying to scratch and pull the roots of the feathers that were growing. He doesn't want anyone else going through that. He looks back at her, brows furrowed. He's speaking calmly, but she doesn't look at all as placid.]

You can't scratch it. Things'll just get worse, or your scratches could get infected. It's not a good idea to be out in the forest this late either.