"A hemophobiac?" Sonia suggests lightly, but she doesn't relent. "No, you're right. You're not a soldier, and I don't think Count Piotr is interested in drafting you. But consider my point proven. You would serve another way, if you were asked to. If you were only given a job to do."

Perhaps unwisely, Sonia pushes herself to her feet. It does take an attempt or two to get her feet properly under her, and she's leaning heavily against the rock, but she is, more or less, standing up. And oh, does the clearing around them do a neat little spin. Still, she beams down at him, pointing one finger at him.

"What you need is a new job. A job that plays to your strong suits. You need someone to tell you what to do, because God knows you're hopeless otherwise."

All uttered with total, cheerful conviction.