A young woman stumbles in, right hand clutching her left arm, hair like gold falling around her face, and a very flustered page at her side, stammering anxiously. The woman was looking pale - her left arm was stained with blood that was seeping through the fingers of her hand. She seemed to have been roughed up - dirt smudged across her face and hair falling out of its usual braided bun.
"God, Paida, will you shut it?" The woman hissed to the girl at her side, and leaned against the doorframe, "it's just a damn scratch."
Lifting her eyes to the woman in front of her, Saitha's expression softens and she smiles. "Good afternoon, I'm here because I've suffered a bit of a -"
"Oh for god's sake," the page, who was, apparently, Paida, spoke up, "she got into a bar fight and the bastard sliced her arm open with a knife."
The blonde rolled her eyes and seemed to give the herbalist an apologetic look. "Look, it's just a scratch, the only problem is, I can't feel my fingers. Think you could fix me back up?"