The sprawled elven maid wasn't truly injured beyond a nasty bruise.  It was nothing a good shake couldn't accomplish.  As a result, when the elf in his wrappings laid his hand upon her the result wasn't pestilent boils or cracked oozing flesh.  It wasn't much more than a minor rash.

Eyes fluttering slowly open, the girl peered up through the forest canopy, at the dim light filtering down through the outspread leaves.  Then she recoiled, one knee rising as she braced and she lifted one shoulder as she almost rose.  Kneeling above her was a man in rags.  She couldn't discern his lineage, or even gender to be certain.  From her perspective, he could be anything from an orc slaver to a vile lich.  Her blue eyes opened wide and she shuffled back but a single hand's span before freezing like a rabbit before a stooping hawk.

"What?" she questioned, "Who are you?"