Is that blood?

“Well, the garden needed restocking after the collapse,” Strange says, instinctively hedging; it’s a convenient excuse, all business and practicalities and no reason to show that he’s nursing some sympathy.

But after a moment’s hesitation, he relents, reaching out to pluck a sprig of nearby embrium. “And to put it mildly: you sounded like you were reaching your limit in the Gallows.”