Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said " Thanks" to Luna and stood there, shivering, but Griphook sank onto the cellar floor, looking groggy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face.
From the sole of your foot to the top of your head there is no soundness— only wounds and welts and open sores, not cleansed or bandaged or soothed with olive oil.
When she reaches a patch of exposed flesh, she uses her small, sharp beak to pierce your skin and slurp up six times her weight in blood, leaving behind an itchy welt.