All right, then. Most of what I can do is helpful, if I'm being honest. I'm not a natural combatant.

[He's still good at it, though. Can still kill any motherfucker dead.]

Let's see. I'm sure you've acquired a couple of cuts and scrapes today, yes? Hm.

[Without warning--because he's rude--he presses the palm of his hand to Wylan's forehead. There's a faint gold glow for a moment, and then Wylan will feel it: aches fading, scrapes healing, scratches closing. It'd be more dramatic if there was a broken bone or something, but thankfully the infected haven't been too aggressive towards poor Wylan just yet.]

[After not very long at all, he pulls his hand away.]

How's that?