"Thank you," Amberdrake was glad enough to have the monk's cooperation, considering. "This looks to have drained enough... I don't even carry a belt knife, or this would have been easier," he was apologetic. But still, it filtered through that mask that was older than Sanzo himself was. The kestra'chern mask was what Hakkai wanted his facade to grow up to be!

He pressed in on Sanzo's skin around the pen with one hand as he slid the smooth -- at least it had that going for it -- plastic tube free. More blood welled out, but from the stab itself instead of from the pocket that had been forming inside. The healer tossed the pen aside. He applied pressure with one hand while he fished out his suturing kit from his feather-patterned robe with the other.

"What is prepared for never occurs, as they say where I am from. How true that is, hm?" It was chatter for the sake of chatter, his bedside manner taking over. The calm kestra'chern voice helped to slow his own heart-rate, bit by bit, as though his own emotions were a skittish animal. "If my abilities return to me, I can purge any infection from this. But let's not take the chance."

He set up the needle and thread while keeping a few fingers on the narrow stab wound, and began stitching. It wouldn't take many to seal this off, especially with how neat and tiny his sutures were. They'd been the envy of his teachers as a child. "You should know something... I don't think we are on your world. And I know we are not on mine. This has happened to me a few times before."

The good news was, no youkai attacks were imminent. The bad news was, neither of them knew the lay of the land. Not literally nor figuratively.