When you only have one life to live, you ought to take care of it! No one wants to go down in the books as having died from a silly old scratch. Of course, by that I mean the scratch getting infected and rotting away and falling off... but the scratch was the start of your trouble! Luckily, I picked up a spare vulnerary earlier...

[ In other words, he's having none of her protests. He picks up his sword and her bow before hustling them along.

His shelter of choice is a little half-burned house, long abandoned. Parts of the roof are caved in like a giant punched a hole in it, but it can't be any wetter in there than outside. He peeks through a window and keeps his ears out for any lurking Risen before stepping through the front door. ]