"No." The tip of his own gun follows her as she approaches and then, abruptly, he holsters it, just looks up at her. If it's an awkward position, looking so far up, speaking casually while sunk thigh deep into a mass of melted, pulling flesh, he doesn't seem to notice.

What he does notice is her words. He spends a moment considering them and then adds, "Amiga. And neither are you. Are you? I know you didn't fight here. There never was a woman who fought on this field. Certainly not one who handled her weapon so comfortably. You don't know me - or I, at least, don't know you - yet you want to know if I'm well. What is it you're looking for?"