Lyra doesn't have to know Jack well to recognize sarcasm. She's done enough search and rescue work to know that some people get mean when they're injured, or even when they're just embarrassed. She takes it in, then allows it to slide off, unbothered as she steps closer, crouching in the mud beside the man. "Not a mage," she assures him, slipping her pack from her shoulders. "I do have a healing ring, which would make this easier, but if you're opposed, I can do this the old-fashioned way."
When he's made his preference clear, Lyra gets to work, pulling a clean rag and some purified water from her pack. Alcohol is better, but it also hurts like a bitch, so Lyra likes to start with water so she can see what she's working with. "I'll just clean you up a bit," she explains. "Then I can see if you need stitches. That work for you?" She raises her brows, waiting for approval before she starts to do anything.
When he's made his preference clear, Lyra gets to work, pulling a clean rag and some purified water from her pack. Alcohol is better, but it also hurts like a bitch, so Lyra likes to start with water so she can see what she's working with. "I'll just clean you up a bit," she explains. "Then I can see if you need stitches. That work for you?" She raises her brows, waiting for approval before she starts to do anything.
Lyra Abrams
