Finally, Medina spotted him.
"Oh my God."
It was a flurry of movement, running in a soaking dress was hard and she'd slipped and fallen a few times. She knew her palms were bleeding, probably her knees too, but she didn't care. "Stranger," She cried softly, finally kneeling beside him, afraid to touch him. This poor man was having an awful night. Probably an awful year. The burn scars on his face were fresh, his leg was hurt. His arm was hurt.
Gently Medina pressed her hand to his chest. He wasn't dead but she couldn't tell if he was awake. It was life or death. This man could die. Being unconscious for any length of time was bad news. Frantically she had to think of a way to cover up the magic, Medina couldn't let this person pass out. Or die, they seemed like small wounds, but... The worst could happen. It would be subtle regardless, years of practice and training had let her do things. Leave the gash, heal the veins. So she did.
Medina decided distraction would be the best bet and so in a frantic unthought out movement, she pressed her lips to his, the small contact all she needed to stop the bleeding of his wounds from continuing. The gash would be there on his leg. The wound from the tree would be there, but the bleeding wouldn't continue except to promote natural healing. A miracle, to some. To mask the healing process, she pressed her lips to his again, eyes squeezed shut. "C'mon, Stranger, wake up. Please?" Another kiss, worried and hovering above him "Please? I don't want to resort to slapping you, you don't need slaps after the night you've been having." The attempt at humour would probably be lost on Mr. Frowny.