"Eh, I'm all right...can't say the same for my shirt." There's that stream. It had looked clear enough by the evening light when they'd picked a spot to camp; it should be all right to drink from and wash in. Jesus, he's thirsty, all at once. And now, pulling off his shirt, the cut starts to sting properly. Tomorrow it'll hurt...

"I half want to chase after them," he says, loud enough to carry to Hotspur. "Just to--Christ, I don't know." Just to keep moving.