Alistair nods. Cullen doesn't sound like he's having trouble breathing -- not the kind that would mean a punctured lung, at any rate -- and he's right: serious damage wouldn't have mixed with a hard ride, anyway.

The superficial wounds first, then. There's not much you can do for a broken rib but bracing and rest.

He unscrews the jar's lid; more elfroot smell wafts up to join the rest. A bit awkward, as he gestures to the enormous bruise painting Cullen's torso: "Do you want me to -- ?"