All Is Fair in Hate

"How did I get here?" How did you get here? You don't even remember an inn. Come to think about it, you don't remember a thing.
"The villagers here found you about a half mile off, lying in a pile of muck along the side of the road. You were out cold, bruised up, scratched and scraped, looking absolutely like death itself." The old woman shuddered, white curls falling over her shoulders and caressing her fingers as they worked.
"I was hurt?"
"Well obviously girl! Don't ask me how. I don't know how you got hurt. Ask yourself!" She looked up, blazing blue eyes catching your own.
What to say next?