After a pause, in which Tauriel's eyes continued to track the heavens overhead, she glanced over at him again. Her smile was slight but genuine, for she recognized the worry in his questioning.

"I have suffered no poison, nor cut," she said, and momentarily touched her fingertips to the cut just above her eyebrow, remembering it and the small, similar wounds scattered elsewhere, "save these. I will heal with rest." Elves were hardy, more so than their slight figure suggested, and though she ached and throbbed with pain, she knew it would go away. While they could not heal from mortal wounds, others they could recover from with time.

She moved to sit back down, the grass soft and welcoming after having known only the mountainside. She would have inquired towards his health, if not for the fact she still marveled at the life still coursing through him. "I shall rest soon," she said, "if that would ease you."