As Artyom's gaze looked over at the valley that he would soon have to enter in order to continue onwards, he couldn't help but let a sigh escape him from lungs that one could arguable didn't require air anymore. He was already trying to get into the habit of breathing through his mouth; the taste of the rotten air alone was bad enough as it were, he didn't need to sully his sense of smell as well. 

Still, the warmth of the bonfire that the young Count was standing near did go a long way to focus on the here and now, taking away the dread that came with trying to cross the swamp for just a little while in order to rest his bones for a time. This focusing on the here and now brought his attention to the still living man that appeared to be impaled several times to a tree. He seemed at peace enough, but ever the empathetic person Artyom asked "[color=f7941d]Sir, would you require some assistance?[/color]" taking a moment to clearly indicate the metal rods poking through him.