[ She holds her breath as he strips the bandage off, eyes on the wound itself. No signs of infection just yet. This happened not so long ago. Alysia moves to soak one of the clothes in the warming water, wringing it out of all excess water before she returns to his side. Grateful her dress has no sleeves, lest she get blood on them, she goes to sit beside him on the bed. There's no hesitation or shyness; she nods with her chin for him to move his arm so she can begin cleaning the wound and staunching what blood she can. ]

I have a hope that the other person is rotting in an alleyway or in a barrel.

[ Alysia takes her time, careful with the tenderness of the skin. She is no doctor, not even a field medic, but she knows how to care for her own wounds. Once satisfied, she stands to go to her bag, the materials within it, before returning to the water. Hot enough by now, she pours some into...a rum tankard (because tea cups are clearly too good for his standing) and prepares it with the Eaphine. Only then does she return, pressing the cup into his hands as she begins to wheel out some of the thread she has. ]

Drink. It won't do much for the moment but it will dull the pain.