He's scratching under an arm by the time Siorus passes that canteen, watching open the way his face twists. Their, and grit in the throat, and alright. Not the only conscript he's known.

"Unless different takes the Blight with it, figure it's just fucked." Takes a swig, doesn't pass it back just yet. Figures he can get two in before stretching the limits of patience — "What'd they get you for?"