Buffy left the work of tacking up her shirt, away from the wound, to all the sticky blood still smeared over the parts of her that were only stained and not wounded. She pushed her chair back, turned it to more completely face Tyrion.

"I'm saying what I mean. I don't just heal well, I heal great. Crowbar, stuck right here." She pointed at her shoulder. "Skewered on a wooden stake, there." She touched her stomach. "Gimme twenty-four hours, and I'll be factory new. But I swear -- if I'm laid out with an infection before those twenty-four hours are up? I'll give in. We'll go back to your King's Landing. The towel will be thrown in."