Yvonne had some snappy replies, but then a few things happened at once. Delving caught an arrow glowing a particularly angry shade of amethyst, and she knew exactly what [i]that [/i]could do. Then there's something furry brushing against her leg, the mercenary almost jumping out of her skin at the sudden intrusion before realizing the presence of a... cat.

What.

Nevertheless, the touch brought a wave of strange calm across her as the heat of the battle seemingly faded away. On top of that, the cat went and morphed into the figure of that spear-wielding woman from their team earlier. There's so many things to ask here, but the fight took priority. Questions can be saved for later.

Hobbling back on her left leg, she planted her sword on the ground with the injured one extended. She momentarily winced at the amount of blood pooling where she stood, the boot and greave completely covered in thick crimson. The flesh and muscles of the calf itself was near completely shorn, if the lighting was good she'd probably get to see the bone.

Every second was precious, so Yvonne tapped some strength boost to snap the leather straps and wrench the damaged greave off. Part of the pants followed, ripped asunder to fully expose the wound. At the last step she took the fleshknit flask, pausing a moment to recognize the shape, then wrenched off the silver cap to get at the content. With one hand she carefully held her savaged calf together, the pain blinding despite her tolerance, carefully pouring the content into the gash as steady as possible.

It stung like a motherfucker. Worse than getting hewn open in the first place. The process burned like molten metal was poured into the wound, spreading fire through her veins and nerves, alongside the disgusting squelching noise of flesh unnaturally mending and rebuilding itself. She stifled her scream through gritted teeth, the silver flask deforming under her grip as the last of the precious liquid left the vessel.

Abruptly, the pain ceased. Breathing heavily and drenched in sweat as if she had just ran ten miles without a break, Yvonne grasped her sword and propped herself up with the tremble of a newborn deer. And yet despite the swaying and lightheadedness, her eyes burned a malevolent crimson as she rejoined the ongoing battle.

[b][color=#a4161a]"...should've killed me when you got the chance, old man."[/color][/b]

[i]Now [/i]she's pissed off.