He was under a bush when I found him, the cat explains, watching Andrew warily. I'm not sure how he got there, but he was looking ragged - and there was blood. From his head, I think.

Daine pales. Cooperative as this cat has been (for a cat), it really would have been nice to get that particular tidbit earlier. How much?

The cat considers. Quite a bit on his head. Not so much everywhere else.

She knows from experience how dramatic head wounds can look, even if they aren't that bad, but this still isn't very reassuring. Daine stands, lifting the cat up along with her. "I'm definitely going to find them," she decides.