He didn't ask. It was the least he could do. His body itself had it's own stories to tell, and he would just as soon rather not explain any of them.

Another shard of glass pulled free, set aside on a nearby side table.

"I can barely tolerate listenin' to ye talk."

The liquid in the bottle was applied to the wounds, and while there was a burn, it didn't sting like alcohol. Something else that smelled distinctly herbal.

"Any other wounds on ye I should know about? Break a rib fallin' out the window? Concussion?"