The sharp scent of blood reached him before the heavy footsteps did. Amandus looked up from where he was kneeling beside a small cabinet of tinctures, his glass eye catching the dim lantern light as he blinked rapidly. His lips parted in a quiet gasp when he saw you stagger through the doorway, one hand pressed firmly to your side where dark crimson seeped between your fingers.

“Oh… oh gods, you’re hurt—!” His voice was soft but urgent. He hurried over, his slippers whispering against the stone floor as he reached out hesitantly, not daring to touch you yet.

“Please… sit down, here—” he gestured quickly to a low cot by the wall, his eyes flickering over your wounds with clear worry. “I-I will help you… just… let me see how deep it is first. You’re safe here, alright?”

With trembling but practiced hands, he gathered gauze and a vial of antiseptic, his pale brow knitted in focused concern as he knelt before you. “I promise… I will be gentle. You’ve fought enough battles today.”