[It's more tempting than she ever would have expected to take advantage of him being up and about to corner him and inspect the wound herself or -- more bafflingly -- hug whatever air he used to speak out of him. She almost asks if there are others like him, if he's met any because she certainly hasn't, but she too exhausted emotionally to try and care about any of them.]

No. I've never...met anyone like -- you. Not in -- my whole life.

[She bites her lip without thinking again, but this time she puts up with the sting by hugging her backpack close to her. She owes him so, so much. It isn't just that he's helped her survive. He's helped her live since he doodled that dumb little cat. He didn't have to do any of that. He didn't have to care for her and make her care about him as the friend she'd only ever dreamed of having growing up.]

There aren't -- words. If -- If I said something, you might have -- left. And -- what? "H-hey, bestie, you dead?" Add that to -- quote list. Ryder of the apocalypse, s-said stupid -- shit.

[It's half a joke, but she sounds frustrated with herself all the same, unable to really find the humor in it.]