"Ha." Syrlya's expression twists into a crooked smirk, which is about the most motion he can manage without causing more pain. While Lambert scans the field he tests his body again and flinches.

"I'm--not dying," he hisses between teeth. "It's fine."

And when Lambert turns to go, he closes his eyes and lets out a weary breath. Okay, it's not really fine, but he'd rather they not fail to kill the Mother of Invention worrying about bones they can't fix immediately anyway.