The dark, cloaked figure of the physician makes his way briskly across the snow towards the chapel, a leather bag clutched in one hand. He stops several feet away from the threshold of the chapel, eyeing in turn each of the three standing nearby.

"I heard vhatever..." Volodymyr begins, a little breathlessly. He gestures vaguely at the sky before continuing. "...Und zhere is blood on zhe snow." At that moment, his gaze settles upon Lorne, whom he regards with an exceptionally careful, neutral smile. Suddenly he stands very still. "Is somevone hurt?"