The Balladeer looks a little taken aback by her outburst. He certainly hadn't meant he'd go throw himself off a building; there's non-fatal falls to take.

But okay, she's obviously got some kind of plan in mind. He closes his eyes obediently and leans back, favoring his hurt shoulder and taking a deep breath. The sounds of the forest are all still wonderfully foreign to him. Central Park may be the closest thing to wilderness he's spent a great deal of time in, and well, he's not really laboring under any misconceptions about that. Wherever they are, there are no car engines, no voices besides the two of them. Just the sounds of water and wind and birds singing in the branches.

He blinks back to awareness when Greta nudges him, and looks to the shirt before meeting her grin with one of his own. "Greta, that's amazing!" He reaches out to take it, peering down at the neat stitches. "Oh, wow, look at this! Looks just like it did before!"

He starts moving to shrug it back on, then pauses, glancing down at his bandages. Healing an arm is pretty different from stitching up a shirt...but hey, what's he got to lose? "Okay, let me try. What did you do, imagine it?"