He draws back and even I can't pretend, if only for a moment, that I'm not terrified. There's blood on his face — my blood, I think, lifting my fingers gently to my neck, wincing when they brush torn skin — and though it's occurred to me more than once that I don't really know what I'm doing here, this is something completely different. Then he speaks, before I have a chance to do anything about it, and I'm not sure why I was so worried. A dog bite is bad, but I'll just get Prim to look at it when I get back to the house. I'm sure she'll know what to do about it, and it's not like I haven't been hurt worse. "A dog bit me," I say, frowning, hand still hovering near my neck. "Do you have anything I could put on this?"