Prometheus perked up and eagerly went to make himself useful. After some stilted Xaelan (just because he copied the knowledge didn't mean it had properly sunk in) the Qestir consented to him looking over some of their wounded. There were only a few, shallow wounds that were already tended to, except one had clearly a broken arm. Judging by their glum demeanor, they didn't have healers strong enough to mend broken bones within minutes. When they returned to the main encampment, they could only hasten the healing by a week at most.

So fragile, always in a rush, yet so slow in other things, Prometheus mused. If he was still an Amaurotine, he could've healed that with barely a thought. Now... well, dragons weren't very well versed in healing magic.

"One person with a broken arm, Hades," Prometheus reported, clearly in high spirits. He was thoroughly enjoying their little adventure, "You can heal that easily, right?"