"Well, I am not your master," she grumbles back, her dismay with the contents of his bag evident, then sighs and dives into her own kit bag. She's been stockpiling from the sporting goods store since day one, and her sponsors were apparently far more generous than his. "But that does explain a lot."

She uses a hunting knife to slice off a strip of leather from a pair of shoes she didn't like all that much anyway, then throws both shoes to the side, since now they're no good. "Bite down on this," she tells him, placing the leather at his lips, "because this is all going to hurt like hell and a half." A splash of gin from one of her bottles is used to disinfect the knife, which she immediately plunges into the open wound, not giving him time to dread it or tense up.