If she could, she would've cursed--but years of discipline prevented the words from ever leaving her lips. Now was the one time she wished she could, as she knew she was screwed as he grabbed her arm. She struggled, obviously, though it ceased as his grip tightened. No getting out of this one, not as long as he was in contact with her. At this point was when he noticed her leg--which she also secretly blamed him for--but to her surprise, instead of dragging her back to where he needed to bring her (as she expected) but he actually healed it. She never was too good at White Magic, but the sensation made her squirm slightly. She was used to downing potions (however horrible they tasted) but soon the soothing feeling on her foot confirmed it has worked. She made to walk away, absentmindedly walking, only to get pulled back rather quickly.

At this point, she stared at him. She stared, unblinking, as she tried to understand why exactly he healed her. It was always easier bringing a wounded animal back to the camp to be skinned and eaten. Better yet, he himself was injured, so why bother? This had confounded her more then any other action he did. And with that, she felt guilty. Maybe she should've never left after all... "[b][color=f6989d]I thank you.[/color][/b]" She murmured, loud enough to hear but low enough to conceal whatever guilt she had. She then cleared her throat, trying to be a little more defiant. "[b][color=f6989d]...and what now? You've sealed off the way back to Rabanastre. From here, we have little choice but to go through the passage to the Westersand. And you...don't look too good.[/color][/b]" She voiced her concerns.