It's like she's speaking a foreign language, and a large part of him is preoccupied wondering if she'll even be able to get near the wound. So much of the sand's reactions confuse him and now, without commentary or whisperings to prompt him one way or another, he watches with about as much concern as she does as she makes contact. That it'll sting and it needs to be cleaned are things he knows distantly and theoretically, like he knows the movements of the stars and their role in navigation.

He flinches as the fabric gummed to the gash separates wetly, the sudden movement cracking the thin layer of sand around his eyes... but other than a faint swirl that could have been the wind, there's no reaction. That answers that question. With Mother sleeping, he can only assume that the automatic defense has failed.

He sits as straight as she does, but for different reasons - he needs to hide the tremor of fear in his spine as he considers again how vulnerable the Kazekage has made him.