Stitching up wounds by hand sounded both incredibly painful and entirely unnecessary. Had he never heard of healers before? Maybe he was injured so frequently that he couldn't always manage to get to a hospital in a timely fashion and it was more convenient to do it himself, but even that didn't make much sense. Juliana knew werewolves who handled things better than that. It would have been just as easy to learn rudimentary healing spells as it would be to — learn how to stitch wounds up by hand. Even the idea of it made her skin crawl.

So his answer was unhelpful, and his tone as he continued was a bit grating — it was understandable that he was exasperated, after what had happened, but it wouldn't do much good to be cross with her about it and it wasn't as though it was her fault. Well, it might have been, a little. The fainting bit might have been her fault, for not eating, but it wasn't as though he could have known that. So he had no right to be using that sort of tone with her, she thought, which impacted the way she responded sarcastically, "Out of this field? Walk in any direction, I suppose. You ought to know better than me. You're the one who chose Inverness."

This was, she realized, not particularly helping, so after taking a bit of a breath she continued, "If we had some needle and thread, do you think you could stitch my dress back up?" It couldn't be so different, mechanically speaking, from what he'd just said about stitching up wounds (though she would prefer not to think about that any more), and if they could get her dress held together she could at least give him his coat back. At that point, they might be respectably dressed enough to get by without people stopping to stare at them — provided they stayed far enough away that no one looked too close, of course.