hurts hurts hurts. he can’t focus his mind enough to make heads or tails of the pain that shoots through his body. his skin is hot to the touch, but despite the fever, he shivers, and everything inside is burning, burning like the way they burned witches. he hears a harsh cry and he realizes that it is his own, there’s one full elixir left -- it could keep him going indefinitely, maybe another day. two at most, but his health is rapidly declining and even if he could last longer, he’s still injured, can’t walk without slowing his companion down. “th’mas,” he slurs and he can’t quite tell if he’s coherent, “h’rts... can’t -- fu’ jus’ you gotta --...” the words still don’t come, at a time when he needs them to be right, needs them to at least fill the relative silence, he can’t make the words work. “please?”
@whvler