Lancelot shuffles his chair forward as Faolan shrugs off his shirt, reaches out to examine the arm he'd touched. His eyes flick vaguely over Faolan's torso for other signs of damage, but he doesn't want to push his luck -- focuses his attention on the wound his attention had been drawn to and presses gently. He can let Faolan direct him.

"Was there anything else she looked at, or just this?"