[ His throat feels like it's on fire and there's an iron taste creeping around the edges of his mouth that's concerning. Less so than his arm openly bleeding as that's occupying his attention, even after Sylvain slides an arm around him to pull him close. Despite his reservations as of mere seconds ago, Claude leans into the other's side without hesitation. It's comforting as is the hand moving over his back, and ebbs some of that paranoia away.

The waterskin's in his hand a second later and he peers at it while Sylvain explains. It takes some time for his mind to parse through everything said but when it clicks: he sits up to look back at Sylvain in alarm. ]

Then these are like what happened in the ritual. [ So much for not a wish in not sounding hoarse; Claude swallows hard like it'll help anything but it doesn't do much of anything. Not drinking the water is out of preoccupation this time rather than mistrust. Had Sylvain mentioned this as part of what happened at the altar or is his mind blurring that in with his own experience? He can't remember but it feels important to press on with. ] They're still happening. Whatever it was that... crawled out of our skin.

[ Now his gaze drifts to his arm where Sylvain's bandaging it and he grabs the other's hand, too aware of all those cuts lining them both. Each one now seems like a hazard even beyond merely refusing to heal which is concerning enough. ]

We weren't imagining it even if all of it disappeared.