[ There's something in how Sylvain doesn't react beyond that initial stutter, a searching look, and then acceptance which rings a distant bell somewhere in Claude's mind. One he knows the sound of, where the alarm is calling from in a shared place back to a different moment standing on a street in Aquila, but he can't grasp it right then. At the moment all he's grateful for is not being pressed about it - another clue he'll look back on later - and something like a joke even if all he can summon up is a wan smile.

It's enough for him to finally, and maybe only slightly begrudgingly, take a drink of water. This time the grimace is entirely at the taste of whatever it is that's floating around in the well that's supposed to pass as potable, since unfortunately whatever was causing him to picture things as something else moments ago doesn't seem to work on what Sylvain's helpfully (and correctly) pointed out as plenty noxious on their own. ]

You have a point. [ There's other bleaker things he could add but instead he mostly resists the urge to cough and watches the bandage again. On second thought, here's an attempt at some dark humor along the same lines. ] Maybe you've only been pretending to protest the idea of the horse-sized scorpion all along so I wouldn't catch on to your actual plans. Does that mean we're going in search of it as soon as we're out of here?