"I'll have you know I camped, alone, in the Hinterlands for weeks before the Inquisitor found her way to Redcliffe." It had been a painfully cold, miserable time and he'd welcomed the ability to join her and the Inquisition in Skyhold, even to spite all the death glares and spitting at his feet. At least one could light a fire without concern it would draw the attention of Templars or rebel mages.

He wasn't in possession of a healer's kit or anything so useful (another note for later or next time) but he did have a bit of cheese in his pocket wrapped in linen, which he unwrapped now, pressing the cloth to the wound and takes Bull's hand, pressing it over the cloth. "Hold this here. We should return to the village, it will need a good cleaning and proper binding."

Satisfied the lummox wouldn't bleed out for the time being, he steps away enough that craning his head to look up at the man wouldn't cause too much discomfort. "A day ago. I wanted to see what the local environs entailed. I didn't expect the local fauna to take such offense."