"You’re unusually quiet today. Worried I’ll snap at you if you remind me to 'take it easy' again?"

You suppose not. In all honesty, it wasn’t her snapping that concerned you. It’s her persistence that, as soon as you turn your back, she’ll test her grip on a blade—again—and undo all your work. Which will soon then just happen over and over, without her even taking a lesson from it. Relentless.

Jingliu's lips twitch in something that might be a smirk—or a wince. It's hard to tell. "Though, you do excellent work. I doubt your wrapping will fail me."

"I'd rather it not be tested." Familiar as this ritual is, you can't say you like it. The extreme injuries, the silence that follows, her being stubborn enough to keep pushing forward—it all leaves you wondering if she ever truly rests.

For now, though, her arm stays still, the silver-haired swordswoman meeting your gaze. "Relax," she says, almost if she dismissed it, the cold blood trail on her robes would be erased. "This isn't my first injury."

And yet, you think to yourself, it doesn't make it any easier to see.