“That will be the local anesthetic,” she says, dry but without any bite, fixing his stitches in place and preparing a dressing. “I will give you something to take later for the pain.” Which is going to come back, eventually, and as someone who's experienced an arrow in the gut, she's aware of how pleasant it's not.

(If far more briefly. The thing about immortality is that the dying part still hurts, even if it never lasts.)

“I will write you some care instructions, so I don't see you here again so quickly with an infection.”