Physical affection is pretty alien to Kraglin. It tends to come in the form of punching each other and not drawing blood and big hugs after a heist goes well. He does his best; he leans back into her a bit. He doesn't smell great, a lot of grease and oil and sweat.

"Yeah... your people have a day for the dead?" Hrax doesn't bother. The dead outnumber the living. "Tullk'd get ink for thin's that mattered. Diablo same species as you?"