Tree Guy watches Barrow circling and calling for a healer, lifting his chin as much as he's able to try to see if anybody's come running. Regardless, the bend of his eyebrows (they at least still move just fine) make clear he's got no great hopes for his own prospects at this point.

"Yes, mate," he drawls, his accent an odd and very thick blend of Orlesian and Dalish, "they are feeling a bit stiff."