[His snarl of pain could give the wargs a run for their money. Torn and abraded by the half-dull candid claws of the wargs (and the dirt he'd dragged himself through, thankfully cleaned away), his leg strongly objects to being moved. But he doesn't jerk or lose his footing, planting his boot to keep it in place while she works. He's a little embarrassed at the visible display of pain, but it's too late now. Hard to look macho when the lady's found you bleeding to death in a pile of dead monsters.]