Moiraine opens her eyes and offers Lan a nod. He has also towelled off, and he hangs the cloth near enough to the small fire to dry but not so close that it might catch a spark. He is still naked, aside from the thin leather strips keeping his hair bound, the occasional stray bead of water catching the firelight and throwing back red-gold gleam. He is art, a statue cast in copper and bronze. Then he looks at her and becomes a man again.
After the bath, Lan and Moiraine take a moment to unwind. This is delicious and perfect.