Amberdrake's had guns pointed at him often enough, even after all these years, that the hair on the back of his neck stands up at the sensation. But he doesn't stop his work, because he can't dodge bullets anyway and if they're going to shoot him, they're going to shoot him. It doesn't even occur to him, that fast, to use his own Empathic power to project at the gunman... he's too busy Healing.

At least I won't have to deal with the headache today is going to give me if they shoot me.

And isn't that the damned truth. He's going to feel like he's been shot a dozen times, trampled, beaten, bludgeoned, torn open, and he's going to have a hell of a migraine, once Healer's Aftershock catches up to him in a few hours. It isn't going to be pretty. Assuming he doesn't end up passed out in a ditch somewhere and then shot for real.

But it doesn't happen, and this close with the stranger's blood all over his hands, Drake feels the... mind-magic? at work. Fascinating.

...Ah, 'riot'. Of course. He remembers the Predain riots, shortly after the King's convenient death. But Ma'ar's supporters hadn't had guns. Thank the gods for that.

"It was bad," Amberdrake tells him, "but no longer. I will stabilize it enough to avoid a hospital... if you wish it Healed the rest of the way later, come find me again once things calm down," he reaches into his bag for needle and thread, obviously planning to stitch the wound up the rest of the way. "I've destroyed all signs of infection in the meantime, and Healed it to a safe enough depth for stitches to take over for now."

The projected thought gets no obvious reaction from him, save for his reply about the hospital in particular. Not easily ruffled, this guy.