"Master Zeiss!" Lincoln approached the carriage, shouting his name.
"Lincoln! We are over here?!" Eleven's voice rang out as she recognized him.
Lincoln spotted their carriage and hurriedly opened the door. "Eleven, are you alright?"
"Mm. I'm fine. It's Zeiss who's injured. I don't know if he's healed. I think he's asleep — and so is the coachman."
Lincoln nodded at her words, then climbed inside to check on Zeiss. He was about to carry Zeiss when the man pulled away, grumbling, "What are you trying to do?" He shot Lincoln a groggy, irritated look.
"Uh, Zeiss, it's Lincoln. He's here," Eleven explained, gently pushing Zeiss's face away so she could look into his sleepy eyes. "Are you alright now? Has the wound healed?"
Zeiss didn't answer immediately. He just stared at her, then pulled back and untucked his vest from his pants. Lifting it up, he revealed the slash on his stomach. "The insides have patched up. I'm fine." He glanced at Lincoln and gave him a brief nod.
