Alistair briefly forces his eyes open when Teren's hand withdraws, but only briefly. He is very tired. But not in an alarming get-Anders-immediately way, probably, just your usual walked-crosscountry-after-having-one's-spine-severed, not-currently-dying-but-tuckered-out-from-avoiding-death sort of way. He can hear everyone talking, but the effort required to move his face and participate seems excessive--until Teren says she's stupid.

Maybe that isn't as serious a statement to her as it would be to him. Touchy, you know. But either way, he opens his eyes again and lifts one shoulder, like he's thinking about sitting up but can't make it any further than that. (He could if he needed to. Again: effort seems excessive.)

"If you'd told us," he says, slurring a little as he warms up, "I'd've been expecting it even less. Maybe even tried to shake the stabby one's stupid murdery hand before she got murdery." Zerique's. If he was ever told her name, in all of this mess, he's forgotten it anyway. "And if you hadn't brought us you'd be dead. Now you're not, and we're not, either. So--"

So. He lifts his forearm at the elbow to make a wavy moving on gesture that manages to be imperious despite the fact that he's laid out on the floor and covered in dried blood. Then he ruins it thunking back down flat onto the floor and adding, "Ow."