[ Though he's hesitant to attempt making any kind of direct eye contact with the girl, if only for propriety's sake, Irving does chance his gaze carefully in her direction, anxious to at least confirm that she is, indeed, unhurt— after all, as long as the two of them are more or less trapped in here together, doesn't that effectively make him the one responsible for their safety? A girl of her apparent age may not exactly be a child according to most 19th century standards, but she is still a very young (seeming) girl nonetheless. ]

Good, that's good to hear, [ he nods and breathes out slowly, having to simply trust, for now, that she's telling the truth, since he's hardly going to be conducting his own inspection to confirm. ] I'm afraid I'd be rather ill-equipped to assist much with treating anything particularly serious, seeing as I'm not a surgeon.

[ A simple burn he should likely be able to handle, though, at least assuming it still responds to treatment the way most burns are meant to; suddenly not even that feels like something Irving can take for granted anymore. ]

Not a fire, no, [ he adds quickly in answer to her question, looking vaguely troubled for his own inability to account for what actually caused the burn. Impossible it could truly be from the fog, but what else? Frostbite? ] Although perhaps we'd do well to light one before it becomes even colder.