"I am," Abel says slowly, studying Tara with cool, pale eyes. I'm dead could mean any number of things; in this context, he's sure that none of them are pleasant. Very probably, anyway, between her dazed state and her bloodied face.

"It's blood, isn't it? You've got it on you. Why in God's name are you out walking the dog right now? What happened at home? Are you safe?" He knows that he's full of questions, and he knows how unhelpful it probably is. He reaches out, gently as possible, to touch the crook of her arm. Maybe he can lead her somewhere to sit down while he gets a handle on her situation.

"Please talk to me. I'm worried."