Oh, indeed! There's a cough syrup you can make from honey and quince... and I am ready, yes.
[His sleeve is still rolled up; he leans his arm on the counter and reaches for the salve with his free hand, swiping a generous two fingers' full of the mixture and smoothing it over the darkening mark on his forearm.
The pain fades almost on contact, and his eyebrows flick upwards, intrigued, as he rubs the rest of the salve in over the bruise.]
It certainly reduces pain.
[And, he thinks, swelling. Perhaps? It's hard to tell. It's also hard to tell if the bruise itself is fading, or if it's just partially obscured by the thick greenish mixture. He eyes his arm with critical interest.]
no subject
[His sleeve is still rolled up; he leans his arm on the counter and reaches for the salve with his free hand, swiping a generous two fingers' full of the mixture and smoothing it over the darkening mark on his forearm.
The pain fades almost on contact, and his eyebrows flick upwards, intrigued, as he rubs the rest of the salve in over the bruise.]
It certainly reduces pain.
[And, he thinks, swelling. Perhaps? It's hard to tell. It's also hard to tell if the bruise itself is fading, or if it's just partially obscured by the thick greenish mixture. He eyes his arm with critical interest.]