Zac exhales heavily, rubbing the back of his head. "That's a problem," he mutters, "especially since I have no clue what you said."

Walking over to the Cyborgel, he looks her over, paying special attention to the parts he was familiar with, those being the organic ones. "I've had medical training," he says, "but only enough to stabilize an organic being. So all I can really help you with are your cuts and gashes and whatnot. As for your cybernetics, we'll have to find someone else to handle that, but I think that can wait. I'll see if I can't fashion a crutch for you out of something around here in the meantime. The biggest problem would be your internal temperature."

Slipping his bag off, he opens it and pulls out a small first-aid kit. Holding it by the handle, he nods toward the hill he came from, saying, "If you follow me over there, I can get you stitched and bandaged up, then we can figure out what to do next." He then looks at the stump where one of her arms should be and asks, "You wouldn't happen to know where your arm is, would you?"