Alistair is—let's say he's on his own two feet, and Kaisa didn't actually have to carry him all the way here on her back, though of course she'd be up for the task, what a woman, etc. He's on his feet but pale from blood loss and pain, dragging one leg and leaning heavily on whoever last drew the short straw, who also gets to catch him or haul him back up whenever the nerves that haven't finished connecting correctly happen to be nerves he needs for balance. He's very disgruntled by all of this and has made sure everyone knows it.

He shuts up abruptly the first time someone looks askance at Teren and murmurs a word he doesn't have to understand. He gets that it's nothing good. His face goes surly but he stays silent, for once, a miracle. He doesn't speak at all until they're watching Teren be fussed over by a tiny old elf; he's less surly about that, more tired and bewildered and half expecting this stranger, too, to put a knife in someone's back.

When that doesn't immediately happen, he musters up, "Hello," for the old woman and a strained, quizzical smile for Teren.