[He sighs.] There's a voice. [He tucks each tiny bottle back into his kit, weighing them in his palm first, remembering how much is left.] Not a voice. A presence. It takes something from you. It gives something back. [He closes the lid with a soft click.] Dialysis of the soul. I guess when enough of you gets replaced... [He gets to his feet, holding the box between his hands.] ... you become a healer.