"What I do isn't exactly stitching," Anders demurs, "and 'Biter' looks to have taken a chunk out of your cheek that can't readily be stitched over." The woman's in armor, and looks like a fighter, so he's not sugarcoating the problem the way he might for a timid Darktown girl. "Unless you're allergic to healing magic, or you've got some kind of religious objection, I'll try some of that first. We haven't got a table set up here — we probably should — but you can come sit in the kitchen where the light's better, yes?"

He glances over at Robin, who appears to be checking his netbook for something, and pitches his voice a little louder: "We're going into the kitchen, serah Robin. Join us when you're done?"

Anders doesn't lead Brienne by the hand. She's a warrior. She's actually got a couple of inches on him, and what looks like a good couple stone of muscle; he's no weakling, especially for a mage, but this woman could probably knock him on his arse without half trying. Rather, he turns and simply expects her to follow, and he holds the kitchen door for her, and pulls out a chair at the kitchen table. Maker forbid he ask her to sit on the table.

Fire magic's certainly useful to cleanse a healer's hands before he begins. The flames flicker along Anders' fingers and spread across his palms.

"Biter. A dog? A wolf? What sort of stuff would've been in this creature's mouth before it went after you?"