Egg says he's got it and all Dunk does is nod with an "all right", shifting to lie by the fire with his hands behind his head. It's strange not to have anything to do, but--
(after fighting that ring of bandits earlier, after getting that woman's mule back, after awkwardly fielding questions from young girls that thought his squire cute)
--he supposes there's nothing wrong with resting, even if just for a little while.
Minutes later, with the smell of cooking fish in the air, Dunk's in such a state of restfulness that Egg's request takes a good few seconds to process.
"Aye," he finally answers, voice rough with grogginess as he sits up. "Hair's coming back in, then?"
Egg had mentioned his brother doing this for him before. Dunk yawns, rises, and goes to where his pack of everyday items is tucked away to find the razor he uses for himself. He takes it to the fire to heat the blade (clean it, more like), and once it's warm without burning kneels behind Egg's seated form.
"I thought you'd be a dark-haired Targaryen," he says, remembering some previous conversation about the hair on Egg's body. Dunk bends Egg's head forward delicately and slides the warm blade over, slicing through short strands. Having done both his and Ser Arlan's grooming for the better part of ten years, the motions of his hands are deft even without cream.
"Though I suppose you'd not have to shave this if that were true..."
Dunk tilts Egg's head again, then holds him steady. "You ever miss having it?"
As he yields to Dunk guiding his head down, Egg doesn't take his eye off the roasting. One part to keep watch. One part to simply watch and not let his eyes ( and therefore his head ) wander. He trusted Dunk's deft habits, however a blade cared little for trust if he moved carelessly about. The warmth from the blade itself felt almost like another hand, as though it was taking the hair with it by simply passing touch over his head. A smaller thought reminds Egg it's Dunk's skill with the blade itself that lets it feel so effortless; the thought is gone as soon as he brings up his old question. It flushes his cheeks to his ears and he thinks to make a remark before huffing it back.
❝ Only some of it's dark... ❞ is muttered almost bitterly, childishly showing more of his age before Dunk's next question takes the breath out of him. He sits in a contemplative silence now. He thinks about his reflection in the mirrors growing up and compares the memories to the reflections he catches now in clear waters and passing windows. Maybe it was how often he smiled lately that made him more partial to be without his hair. However...
❝ Sometimes. When I see your hair. ❞ There hadn't been any hesitation to how he says it. Matter of fact, the answer comes clean and naturally from Egg, like it hadn't taken much thought at all to consider. He did quite admire Dunk's hair when it'd grown, so much so he'd find himself distracted by it sometimes. It made him think whether he could look so valiant with such hair, or if it was simply Dunk's age over him that made it seem so. He wouldn't divulge all of his thoughts, though. ❝ It just seems easier to keep shaven now. ❞