An injured Saturday seems to draw Guts over from the rear end of the caravan. The samurai attack had been brief and swift - there was hardly time to kill them before they vanished into the mist again. A few arrows and blades had managed to nick his arms, but the jagged plate mail he wore kept the rest of him untouched.

So, he'll preoccupy himself by kneeling next to her, very much noticing the laceration she was treating.

"You need help patchin' that up?"

It doesn't look too deep, at least.