Dagmar shrinks, and drops her eyes - not looking at Sylvi or Siv. She mechanically unzips the hoodie, and pushes up one sleeve of her henley. There, above the elbow, is an old scar - round, glossy, and slightly raised. A little bigger around than a pencil eraser. Beneath her hand, slipping under the scrunched-up fabric are a few slender stripes. They are not raised, but pale and laid out in neat parallel lines.