This whole thing was going to hell in a handbasket, and fast. First Silas, then Marchand in his peripheral, and now her. "N-no, no, of course you're not okay." He could hear her as clear as day, maybe his protective nature enhancing his hearing a little bit. "But you will be, okay? You'll be fine." He wasn't sure if he should lift her or not yet, wasn't sure of the severity of her injury—okay, it was pretty fucking severe, obviously, but he wasn't a doctor—and didn't know if he should move her.
Sleepy. "No, no don't go to sleep, okay?" he asked, looking her over and biting his lip. "I'm gonna pick you up. It might hurt, but..." he shook his head no. "We have to get moving."
He put one hand under her knees and the other on her shoulders and gave her a little smile, as comforting as he could muster right now. "It's okay, alright? It will be. I'll get you back to the compound, and everything will be alright," he reassured her. "Hold on to the wound, okay? Put as much pressure on it as you can, and we'll move quick." He looked around, for her brother or her cousin. Rae was too far in the distance already, and Lucas was nowhere to be seen.
"You're losing blood, but it'll be okay. Just hang on, alright? It'll be okay."
Taking off as quickly as he could, he ran—trying not to jar her—in the direction of the compound. "Don't go to sleep, okay? Your brother and your cousin would kill me if anything happened to you. You wouldn't want to be responsible for that, would you?" It was a joke, but he hoped that it would calm her.