Glacius tries to return that reassuring smile as best as he can, but it's clear his hearts aren't in it, given how he's feeling settled about precisely none of what has transpired today. At least his words are only gently teasing, and plainly fond, calling back to something Carlisle had said to him so long ago it feels like they were different people: "I thought you had your own problems to worry about without getting dragged down into the affairs of others."

Nonetheless, he starts on some of the dressings, beginning with what's been wrapped around his left forearm. It's not unusual to see his limbs with the brunt of the wounds given the range he tries to keep his opponents at; what is strange is the damage to his hands. The scuffs and cracks across them, the broken and bloodied knuckles... having seen two of his species in plenty of fights before, Carlisle should be aware enough of the fact that Glacius doesn't usually pummel things with bare fists. No, normally he weaponizes them with a shift to maximize impact and protect himself... perhaps feeling his own body start to give under repeated duress was easier than focusing on the caving of his hearts.