The brief praise rings bright through her in a way only possible for people who are desperately unused to it. High praise from Aiglamene had always consisted of back-handed compliments and the occasional 'well, that wasn't utterly terrible', and those moments had once been exciting enough. She's still quietly glittering from it - grin big and raw and crooked - when Ciri follows through with her question.

Gideon pauses in the dust, the point of her blade resting against the ground, one hand loose around the grip. Her heart is still juddering in her chest from the thrill of the fight, and she's yet to come out of that hot and dreamy space reserved only for battle. She's rusty with lag-time as she starts checking herself over, trying to feel something besides the electric buzz of adrenaline.

"Nah, I don't think so..." she's saying, just as her hand brushes her right side, the unguarded muscle beneath her ribs, and her fingertips come away bloody. "...Huh."

She heals fast these days, thanks to the strange boons of their new host planet. The fact that she's still bleeding means that something must have caught her deep.