For all his ferocity and that of his creature, there appears to linger in the Beastmaster enough modesty to startle and still himself, staring emptily at the man whose revulsion is patently clear. He covers himself in haste, with a coarse hand, slapping the last of the bandages on more than affixing them.

"As... much as will do." There are limits to healing all bodies observe. Scarred skin will never be an untarnished canvas. "Cook your meal. Eat... carefully. Dry season. Not much meat on the bones."

Small, fickle and worthless findings. Waste of a huntsman's arrows.