Faolan glances up at the other man after a moment, at the stream of questions and the look on Lancelot's face. Feeling somewhat guilty at the look he finds there. (Although he supposes that that face is exactly why he had done such a stupid thing as sought help from a Midnight witch in the first place.) He touches his arm where the deep slice had been.

"It's, ah. A little? Nothing as bad as it was, though. She used this special thread, and..." Well, she hadn't been able to use painkillers like a regular hospital would have, that should have been his first clue. After a moment longer, Faolan puts down his fork. "Here, you can see for yourself," he says, moving to reach for the hem of his shirt.