A nod, and then Zelda grasps the knife’s handle with her off-hand and yanks.

Before too much blood can be shed, though, she releases the magic in her other hand, pushing life and warmth into the other woman’s body.

“Done,” she says as the wound fades- there’ll be a fresh scar, likely as not, but that’s hardly the worst that could happen.

She allows herself one last look-over before stepping back to the battlefield. To be sure, she adds, “Is the worst damage dealt with?”