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As much as she would have preferred to continue pretending she was by herself and not embarrassing herself in front of a man who was essentially a total stranger, she couldn't help but raise her damask eyes to meet his when he mimicked her movements, dissuading her hand from the slingshot and retrieving it himself. Returning her gaze to the ground once more, she replaced her hand on her arm and attempted to will feeling back into her fingers.

"No, it's just... It's an old injury. I forgot it was still healing." Stupid, stupid, stupid. "It's fine. I'm sorry." Even with all his insistence, it was her own problem and she was determined to keep it that way. The sooner she dismissed his worries and returned to a normal state of affairs the better. This may or may not have been due in part to the fact that she was still quite terrified by the distinct lack of sensation persisting in her hand and her complete unwillingness to reveal this fear.

His words registered slowly, Aila remaining crouched beside the otherwise unsympathetic Metagross and cradling her paralyzed arm. She looked up briefly when she recognized a question and gave a curt nod, "I can." As she returned to her full - though diminutive - height, however, she found that locomotion was still a bit beyond her. Standing was as well, as evidenced by her immediate instinct to lean against Pitre once more. She had been babying her injured arm for a while, and the physiological shock of suddenly placing such a strain on it was more crippling than she had imagined. Though resolved in acting on Inigo's suggestion, she failed to move with the immediacy that would suggest as much.

"No, I can--" A sharp gasp cut off her reassurance as she was quite unceremoniously hefted into his arms. She shouted all manner of objections - mentally, though, as the words simply refused to take form on her lips with the distraction of her internal flailing. Her face nearly immediately scarlet in mortification, she shut her eyes and shrank against Inigo's form. She wouldn't realize until later that the movement had disturbed her hip, mostly healed as it was, and that was scarcely her primary concern. No, her primary concern was the fact that she was nestled in a stranger's arms. Arceus, she would never live it down, even if no one ever held it over her.

Pitre watched with a mild amusement, though a certain fire-type was less than humored by the sight. Charmant was quickly at Inigo's heels, watching with a scrutinizing glare for any indication that she should Bite. Thus far it seemed he was attempting to help, but who knew how quickly that would change...

Her first response to being set down was to hide her face, a process made significantly more difficult by the fact that she could only use one hand to do so. Fortunately there was soon a Growlithe at her side, and she took the opportunity to bury her face in the pink fur, conveniently missing any trace of embarrassment Inigo's own face might have shown in the process. She pried away slightly, revealing a single eye similar in color to the pokemon against which its twin was still pressed with which to acknowledge her company's words. Fortunately for him, she had failed to notice the brush on her leg in her crippling embarrassment. Otherwise he might have very quickly found himself facing a Growlithe's maw.

"Um, no, I..." She huddled slightly closer to Charmant. "I-I'm fine. Thank you." She could have used some ice for the various sore spots around her body, perhaps, but of course she wasn't going to mention that. Besides, it didn't seem that he had an ice-type on him, unless he had other pokeballs hidden somewhere on his person. She found her heartbeat settling back into normalcy and decided it was as good a time as any to ensure she really hadn't torn something on her arm. She rolled up the sleeve and carefully unwound the tightly-wrapped bandages to access the deep scar beneath. It was intact enough, but it was significantly inflamed and throbbed with an inner pain. Gently, almost fearfully, she rubbed the arm in an effort to massage it back to its previous compliance. Her journey was essentially over if the limb reverted to total paralysis...

"Old-ish," she amended quietly. It probably felt older than it was; it seemed as though she had been locked up in that infirmary for ages. At mention of a washcloth, she moved to look through her nearby bag. She had brought one; she remembered using it the other-- Ah. She took the square of fabric in her hand and moved to rise with all intent to wet the cloth in the lake's waters only to stagger back to a sitting position from the protest of her hip. All patience left her simultaneously, and she brought the washrag to her face to muffle the loud cry of frustration that escaped her. Heaving a sigh, she lowered it, her brow knit in an expression between anger and sorrow. "Sorry." Why did she feel so obligated to apologize anyway? "I'm not in the best condition of my life."

She watched with a slight confusion as he pulled the cloth away from her, a feeling that became more pronounced with his following tone of voice. Nothing appealed to her more than the thought of jumping up and retrieving the washcloth to complete the task for herself, but Inigo was right: She would only hurt herself more if she moved about in her current state. So, albeit reluctantly, she returned to a more comfortable position, laying her arm in her lap and locking her gaze on the nearby dancing embers. Arceus, why did she have to be so helpless... Who invented injuries in the first place? They were stupid things.

Leilani returned with the soaked cloth, and as Aila made the beginnings of motions towards retrieving it, Inigo instead took charge of the thing. "Ah, you don't have to..." But he already was. And for what? Was there something he wanted from her? What had she done to deserve such kindness, and from a veritable strange no less? Why did he invest so much in her comfort and well-being? Slowly taking prominence over these thoughts, though, was the soothing chill of the cloth on her arm, and she couldn't help but feel an immense gratitude. "...Thank you."

She lay the fingers of her right hand over those of her left, shuddering slightly when the contact failed to register. "Yes," she answered nonetheless. It was at least true that the pain was subsiding. Hopefully feeling would return from keeping her arm very still... That did raise the question of how she would manage for the night, but-- oh, it seemed Inigo had that same question.

"I'll get by," she said, her tone betraying a slight uncertainty. "Pitre's just grumpy because he can't access the internet out here, but he'll help if I ask." The Metagross didn't as much as spare her a glance. He wasn't grumpy. He was deeply and genuinely upset. "Fleur could help me as well, I think," she moved her right hand to her hip, to the pokeballs concealed below the loose folds of her blouse. The Venusaur would probably be more interested in the forest than in assisting her trainer, but she could be reigned in... right?