"My hands..." Skellig looks at his palms, his fingertips, which have stopped their earlier tremors. Despite the increase in his heartrate which has occurred with her lips meeting his. "My hands have settled."

And it isn't like he's going to let her cut it out of her own body. He studies the wound, the arrow lodged firmly into her flesh, the blood having dripped down her chest and dried on her skin.

He shifts in his chair to move closer to her.

"You have a blade...do you wish for anything for pain that I could fetch? Or I can try my best to...dampen it."