"Thanks, just anything to get the taste out." The only other option when he's between watches with the Boneflayers is to worry at his lip or bite his tongue or the inside of his cheek until it bleeds so the blood is fresh at least. It makes a difference. When he can smell himself dying from the foul stench when the poultices aren't as fresh or when he turns and jostles them enough to have black blood welling beneath the surface of them.

It's slow, trying to sit but there old scar from the base of his skull to the small of his back is throbbing, but his sides and his front aren't options now. The world spins violently enough that he grips the bed tight, deep shuddering breaths. He isn't going to be sick. Not again. There's not even bile left in there anyway by now.

When he can speak again, his voice is surprisingly level for a man this close to the end but he's part-Avvar, he's been a mercenary for almost half his life, and even if it's seemingly accelerating all of this, he's still a Reaver. It's a strange combination but it allows him to cut through the haze sometimes. "Why are you here?" He asks, no heat in it, rubbing his eyes to get them to focus a little better. "There are other healers. After what I said to Adelaide, s'not like anyone would force you to come."

Asher remembers and well, Asher might be a shit but Asher is at least an honest man if not always a good one. So he can own what he said. In another tent. He was getting better last time though.