Briefly, Dorian glances up at the Bull, frowning at him. With the Bull's mask mostly intact, it's impossible to gauge his expression, to determine whether or not he might be telling a convenient lie to assuage Dorian's imagined discomfort. Dorian needs no such reassurances – by now, he's used to being a pariah – but he's at least a little relieved that they won't have to waste their time with the Bull launching into talks of ethics.

Dorian spends a few moments focusing, on trying not to do more damage in his attempts to fix things. After a few minutes, he rocks back, the glow fading from his hands as he settles them in his lap.

"That's as much as I'm comfortable mending." Admittedly, he thinks, it wasn't much, but it should be enough to attempt limping on, though not much else. "If I try anything more, I'm bound to get something wrong, and some healer might harangue me for making things worse."

For a second, he falls silent, before he lets out a breath. "You're certain? I know you're— not comfortable with more esoteric types of magic." An understatement, admittedly, but sometimes Dorian can manage a bit of tact, when he cares to. "If you've anything to say, now's the time to do it, while it's still fresh. I'd rather we have everything out in the open."