Thank you, Arathorn. That's not a worry. *takes some deep breathes, trying to focus beyond the pain and discomfort and chill, on what needs to be done, slowly and deliberately, he pulls Arathorn's cloak around him and arranges it to cover himself better from the cold, and undoes the clasp of his tattered cloak, and starts, with great difficulty undoing the buttons of his much more tattered shirt, wondering how much good that will do, because even if he could make the motions to pull it off, it was caked at his shoulder and hip; there was no hope for it--once the fire was made he would need to be dipped in the cold creek* It will get worse, but then things will get better.