It's obvious to him how his tactic has worked—to some extent. How it flustered Dirk, jumbled him more than the pain in his leg has. Whatever deeper objections there might have been withered away into the meager complaint he's offering now.

"Then don't. You can rest and allow me to act in your stead." Emet counters, his gaze staying on Dirk's face for it, before looking to his poor leg. Drawing his hand away from Dirk's chin, he lets it settle on the thigh of his uninjured leg. Giving it a light squeeze.

"I know 'tis naught you cannot endure, not to mention..." he trails off as his hand trails forward to rest more on his inner thigh, "you will scant do so without particular comforts, either. There is strength through healing—through rest, my dear, and well do I know yours."