Abby grumbles wordlessly because she doesn't need to answer that. They both know that she wouldn't. In fact, if it had been her with the gash their roles could have been easily and perfectly reversed, except that she wouldn't be trying to stitch herself up in the fucking kitchen to begin with. It's unsanitary.

Another pause, to dab the blood away.

Every single time they interact, Abby is reminded of how they're more similar than she cares to acknowledge. It both comforts, and pisses her off. "Nearly there," she adds. She's come to the trench of the cut anyway.

Also, "Fuck the Crows." Fucking... scary bastards. Abby thinks she doesn't rattle easy, but there was something very bloodless about the one that tried to abduct her in the marketplace. "What happened?"