The number of things in just the last few days worth running from had already sunk reality behind them: there was nowhere much to run to. Home was gone, as he'd always suspected. The familiar had been taken from them all, and all they could do was face each new thing standing or lying down.

And some days he stayed down, but he thought this was something he'd dealt with before.

The red on white caught his gaze; just a flick of the eyes, there and back to her face. It was a small thing, but he didn't think--it was one small thing too much. One thing to see blood where there wasn't any, but this was too consistent. Too convincing.

But to ask, even if it was blood on the ground, gave him away. She was bleeding or she wasn't, but he was crazy either way. He could call out to someone for a hand, judge it by their own reaction and back off, but--she didn't want that kind of help, and he couldn't betray that.

"No, no problem." His gaze went from drifting and dodging to steady, looking her dead in the eye. "Sam, are you sure you're okay? There's a lot going on, but I don't think anyone will be upset if you ask for some help." That steady gaze slides over, indicating the dark stain on the dirt.