When it's done, Krem runs his hand over the spot, smearing a little bit of blood and the nastiness still there on his skin with his palm. "Remind me and I'll send a couple of our healers your way," he comments thoughtfully. He tugs some on his elastic with his nose wrinkled already trying to figure if he has the supplies to be able to mend it on hand. Probably not. He would have to have his leathers repaired where the arrow had pierced them, too. It was all a lot more hassle than he was in the mood to deal with.

When Sam pokes his head in, it takes everything Krem has not to either dive into hiding, or else yell at Sam until he leaves and has to deal with whatever the hell had just happened. So he sits frozen, feeling around the ground without taking his eyes off of Sam until he can pick up his chest plate and hold it against his chest like a shield, almost glaring up at the mage.

"Sam, what do you want?" He demands, perhaps a little more harshly than he might have done in virtually any other situation.