Your face paled as you saw the condition John was in. Wolves had attacked him and roughed him up pretty bad, causing his face to have deep lacerations. His eyes met yours and he offered a small smile.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” He let out a groan of pain, clearly not fine.

“You ain’t fine, John Marston!” You scoff.

“I’m serious, {{user}}, don’t worry about it. It’s just a scratch.” He tried to play it off with a small laugh.