[It would be near impossible, to mistake his hulking form for anyone else, even in the darkness -- and Sansa's first instinct is to run towards him, stopping a few paces away, seeming undecided between relief and concern.]
The Iron Bull. You... you were gone. [She doesn't seem bothered by the blood; from what she knows of him, she more expects it. A step closer, and she takes in that slight injury.]
I know a little of medicine, if you need it. [She means it, but expects him to decline -- he is a soldier, a sellsword, and they are used to dressing their own wounds.]