Kikyo merely narrowed his eyes coolly in response to the urban ninja's protest. If the man insisted on struggling against him, it would only make it more painful for himself. His cold amber eyes assessed the damage. Someone in this place wielded a katana. He could easily recognize the aftermath from his own weapon of choice.

In stony silence, he went to work, not batting an eye at the extent of the wounds nor from the sight and smell of blood. His fingers took him by the shirt where the sword ripped through, and he tore off shreds of the cloth to tie together into a makeshift bandage. The cloth circled around, and again, pulled together cleanly and skillfully - though maybe a little tighter than necessary. He had little compassion to spare, if any.