Most would be intimidated by a creature of Garrick’s height and bulk towering over them at this close of a level, but this Elf didn’t even seem phased in the slightest. Not even as he stared back into her calm, quiet, and seemingly reserved eyes, which look him over as he approached her before he crouched down before her. 

One might expect a wince, a grunt, a groan from one with the gift of speech when an arrow is pulled out. Even if they refused to make a sound, one would expect some sort of involuntary twitch or other reflex. 

Yet when the arrow was pulled from the elf’s flesh there was nothing but calm. 

Not a sound. 

Not a twitch. 

It was as if the arrow and the impact it was having on her body hadn’t even registered to her in the slightest, even as the newly opened wound started to bleed and further stain her with blood. 

And neither did Garrick’s words unfortunately. Her lack of command even over the simpler parts of the language meant that his formal, complex speech sailed right over her head. 

She just knew that he was speaking to her. For some reason. [i]”Doctor?”[/i] was a word that crossed her mind for a singular moment as she listened to him with no understanding of his words at all.

After all, he said a bunch of complicated words that she didn’t understand while treating a wound. To her, Doctors were somewhat like that.  

Of course, given how calm she was, no hint of not understanding Garrick’s words crossed her expression. Not that the cryptid had looked long enough to see if such a hint of non-understanding existed. 

Once Garrick had returned to looking at the Sand King, the elf did as well, her emerald eyes on her blood-stained face continuing to ever so calmly and quietly bore a hole into him, one that would probably go unnoticed by most if the elf’s face wasn’t so conspicuous in her current state.