"Excellent." Kanimir grins, clapping his hands together with a fizz and pop of magic, as she finally accepts his offer. It's grudging and makes out like
he's the villain here, but he's really not that bothered. He wouldn't have been phased if she had turned him down, either, although he must admit he's still curious what a creature of her nature -(heh)- is doing running amuck in Connloath. The country isn't exactly a tourist centre for magical beings these days.
He pulls his satchel over his head, offering the woman a placating hand wave in response to her request - statement? - not to "magic her". That would be more than slightly counterproductive, seeing as how he "magicked" the hunters for her benefit. Digging around in his bag, he finds an old shirt, torn and ragged in places, that he had intended tearing into strips for bandages. That's still very much an option, but the elf woman might be slightly more prudish than Keithia, and he tosses it in her direction for her to do with what she pleases.
He has a few jars of ointments and pain relievers in his satchel as well as some actual bandages, underneath his other to-be-kept-on-person items, and he crouches back down to root through them for what he needs to deal with the woman's injury. Glancing up, wrapped knife bundle in hand, he jerks his head in the shapeshifter's direction, gauging the severity of her wound in the same glance.
"So, do you have a name? Or should I just call you Doe Eyes?"
@SanctifiedSavage
