She stretches up on her toes to look, frustrated at her inability to fly. There's at least a foot and a half of height difference here so the angle isn't good if he's not cooperating, definitely she can't see everything. But the blood is drying and it's not spreading, and the man's color is good. It's not even really as if he's had a recent injury bandaged.

Vögelein remembers everyone who's bled out in her line of sight, while she was helpless to prevent it. She's strong for her size - or, she was - but that only goes so far. This man's not actively dying, she decides, and draws in a deep breath of relief as she takes a more decorous step back, bare feet dirty and noiseless.

"What happened? The wound was... restored, you say?"