When he and Seeker Hart and Astarion fell from the griffons, there were a few days Without; Barrow had tried to power through them, only to relent when it was clear rescue wasn't coming immediately. He'd asked the comparatively uninjured Tiffany to fetch his pack and administer the dose, and she'd done it, and they'd all managed without any dramatics.

Dramatics still seem far away, at this point, but the want is beginning to seep through Barrow's consciousness. He keeps busy, not wanting to shut himself away just yet: he fixes things in the infirmary, tightens joists, oils hinges, perhaps making a nuisance of himself with how single-mindedly he goes about it. His demeanor remains friendly, if a bit strained. He's thirsty, quite thirsty.

But he'll make it through, he's certain of it. Surely it won't get too terrible. He's happy to say so to anyone who asks, and even sings while he works.