He would rather not impose on his neighbor like this, but even he recognizes the necessity. Nodding his head once, Benjiro complies with exposing the wound. He sits down on the open seat for patients and bends forward to roll up the leg of his pants. The dressing Walter had applied for him has kept it covered, and the teenager breaks the tape to unwind the gauze. The final layer pulls off with some pain as the threads stick in the open wound bed, gauze stained by the dried blood. A fresh trickle of red seeps from the slice into his leg, the gash an inch below his knee wrapping around the lateral side of his calf and nearly the length of her hand. The center of it is a centimeter wide, and despite the way it comes around, only the superficial layer of muscle has been cut. It could have been much worse.