Amberdrake doesn't even try to get up just yet. Some twenty-seven years of experience has taught him his limits, and the gray cast to his deep amber skin isn't exactly a trick of the light. But he's been a kestra'chern for so long that he just sits there on his knees and shins, and folds his hands calmly in his lap once he's stowed his supplies back in his bag.

He somehow makes it graceful and calm. Being covered in random people's blood and having their terror and pain beat relentlessly at his shields, while steadily draining his physical resources through-out the day... it's not an easy thing, but he's had a lot of practice at it.

"Amberdrake," he says, "and you're quite welcome."

Honestly, he'd be dragging them both away from here if he could. It's not the safest place to be. But he can't, so he just takes the moment to regain some strength. Every moment has to come by itself during such chaos; one foot in front of the other. There's no point in looking further ahead than that. He could be shot in the head ten seconds from now, after all.

Speaking of--

"And my thanks for... whatever you did to the man with the gun."

Why yes, he'd noticed. He just hadn't let it derail him mid-procedure.