"It's..." It's not fine, exactly. No one could claim that. But although Daud knows he should be angry, or upset, or something, he just isn't. There isn't anything there.

"It's done," is what he'll settle on, finally. If there's anything to mourn, he won't be doing it here, with too many curious eyes and ears. Instead, with the threat of immediate danger passed, and no longer carrying Theseus, he unwinds the scarf from his face, shedding frost that melts as soon as it comes into contact with the ground. It exposes more of his horns and his dark purple skin to the light. He frowns, assessing their injuries. Not pleasant, but ultimately nothing life-threatening, either.

"Sit down. We'll send a message to the Defenders to send a healer along. For now, we can slow the bleeding." It isn't much, but there are rudimentary medical supplies provided to them -- mainly for bandages and binding broken limbs rather than anything that needs stitching. He's never been one to sound overly compassionate, and his voice is brisk as he gathers supplies.

"Have you treated injuries like this before?"