Syrlya cringes at that. "I'd like to keep my limbs attached if at all possible!"

But he knows he may not had that option, he may not have a choice. He inspects the wound critically as it starts going up his bicep. "I am--foliage. A plant."

That's more descriptive than his actual people. He presses his good hand against the wounded flesh, trying to feel it. "Sap does not bleed quickly. How well could you remove the afflicted flesh without taking the whole arm? Although it's preferable if you've better healing magic than I."