The Doctor couldn't help but tilt his head at the young man bellowing threats of violence. He had killed these people, yet now was so petulant about what would be done with their remains? There was only one explanation for this he could credibly see, and that this young man was under the influence of some shaman or witch or other source of infantile irrationality clouding his mind.

He had known the people outside his homeland were far more backwards. He had known they were superstitious, and primitive, and any amount of similar descriptors. He had even read of many of their myths and notions. Some of it seemed exaggerated even, but the boy certainly did well to verify the stereotypes some fellow Haldran academics had about outlanders. He wondered: if he showed this lad a bit of electricity and alchemy, might he spout off a little litany about how this was witchcraft? Punctuated by a vigorous scratching and grunts mayhaps. 

But there was no point in arguing with such a one. Violence was all such a mind could muster, and debate about how lives could be saved with the scientific insights born herein would be lost on a person that could only think of bloodshed. Frustrated, but cognizant of his position, Soren gave a thin polite smile along with a nod. 

A thought occurred to Soren that he could just wait for them to leave, and then do as he wished. Whatever these people did they were clearly in such a rush they couldn't be rid of all the usable material. 

But that was greedy and sloppy thinking. The risk was very severe that whoever sent these men had a plan B, C, D and so on which would also not take kindly to his work. Much as he loathed the thought, his involvement with these people in the brief combat had already sealed his fate. His participation on their side meant that they were to be his companions for now, as a donkey wasn't exactly a good guard animal against people seeking to avenge the death of their comrades. 

He turned to Brig, who unfortunately hadn’t been sufficiently supportive of his cause that he felt he could go forth and do as he wished. She was clearly the leader of this group (and, the least crude in parlance) thus making him feel only she was worth addressing. “Either way, I must for now be tethered to you, for I am now implicated in these people’s passing and hence will be victimized by them if I remain alone.” 

The man was then distracted by the motions of the mute woman, turning his attention. What an oddity. Still, it didn’t take very much for him to conclude what was wrong with the woman, in both senses of the word. With a sigh, he set aside his crossbow, removing the bolt and softly easing the tension in the string. Then he rummaged in his satchel, fingers coming by memory on the exact implements he needed. Motioning to Eirun to sit beside him on a rock, he began to prepare some bandaging along with two separate bottles for disinfection and ointment. “Now, this is going to sting. The stinging means it is helping, so do not hit me, yes?” Back home these things were known, but he didn’t want to take any chances with people that could do painful things to him at a whim. But once (or perhaps, assuming) he got some sort of affirmation, which he never got. He shrugged, merely laying the components he himself would have used on an unrolled cloth. “Suit yourself, but don't whine if it gets infected. Not that you could, I suppose.” It wasn't meant as an insult, he just had the misfortune of people complaining when their own activities resulted in poor treatment that they in turn blamed on him. “You should get a new dressing for it in a day. Return to me or another professional if you can, and let the one to change it know if it gets itchy or starts weeping or-...” he paused, remembering who he was speaking to and the certain communicative issue between them. “Just come to someone to get it changed.” 

Soren would get up, and then let off a small series of whistles, the command for his donkey to get his cart to him. Squinting, he relaxed as he saw the trained beast coming along the road to him. 

Softly, he began to whisper to himself, clutching at another one of his pouches.