[ A sword. There’s a sword in his shoulder. Inconvenient. He looks at it, gritting his teeth (fae or not, having a sword scraping against bone is not a painless experience). ]

You are a little bit foolish. Whoever told you about my siblings and I, you ought perhaps ask them why one shouldn’t attack unarmed men in the woods.

[ Aside from the gritted teeth, there isn’t a lot of reaction to the sword. He collects the blood in his palm, outstretching it once again. ]

Offered freely. No terms.