Logan locked in on the man's scent, registering the spike of fear sweat on top of the coppery smell of blood and the aftertaste of pain. The discomfort he was clearly feeling he didn't have to smell, it was clear on his face. The feral man moved surprisingly fast for someone of his wider build and relatively short legs, so he'd stalked purposefully to the injured mutant's side in moments.
Up close, the wound was clearly a stab wound, even with the shadowy tendrils moving all over the man's body. It smelled of both 3-in-1 and gun oil, which told Logan whoever had stabbed this guy wasn't too particular as to what to use to oil his knives.
"Dun' worry, bub. I ain't 'bout to hurt ya. In fact, I want you healthy and hale so's we can have us a nice, friendly chat," he said in his low, gruff voice, crossing his arms over his deep chest and standing to one side of the bed to allow whomever might come to work on the man's wound. "How'd this happen anyway? And know that if y'say ya cut yerself shaving yer just gonna piss me off."