Mia turned in time to watch Ford visibly flinch.
"I know it looks bad," He admitted in a strained voice.
"Looks bad?" Grandpa shook his head. "Ford, what have you done?"
The leg was angry looking, swollen and bruised. When Ford gingerly lifted his shirt with one hand to expose his ribs, Mia glimpsed purple before he gasped and let go.
"Ow…" Ford gritted his teeth and closed his eyes for a moment, then visibly relaxed and looked at them a bit sheepishly.
Mia's eyes grew round.
"What are you doing?" She demanded.
"Well," He began, no longer seeming to feel any pain from his apparently severe injuries. "Denholm did kick me really hard in the ribs, and stomp on my leg. I've been trying to heal it, but I know very little about medicine–"
"No, what are you doing right now?" Mia pointed at him, temporarily losing her resolve to remain detached and impassive.
