Jeron held his breath as Chamera examined the scroll, his gaze glued to the parchment as she carefully stretched it open once more. What secrets did this strange scroll hold? How would Chamera discover them? He certainly felt envious at the half-elf's ability to try to decipher the scroll. If he had even a portion of her skill, he wouldn't need her help. Perhaps the remains of Elminster's tower contained more secrets waiting to be discovered by one with a magical bent.  With more power, he could have escaped the Zhentarim by his own hand, could have picked the tower clean of its secrets, could be uninjured and well on his way to wherever those secrets led him next, to real power.

He was not yet sure if he regretted meeting Chamera and her companion. If Jeron was more powerful, he wouldn't have needed the pair at all, would have been content to leave them at that dark town, though Chamera had been almost suspiciously kind to him. Almost. He did not miss her guarded apprehension towards him in all of her actions nor the tension in her gaze every time she looked at him. He assumed that she had to remind herself that he wasn't a monster every time she caught sight of his dark skin or silvery hair. It would amuse him to have someone fear him despite the notion that she could probably take him in a fair fight should it happen, but he was so sick of being feared.  In the end, he was very lucky to have met someone like her, though he wished the circumstances would have allowed him not to meet her at all.

That's when Jeron exhaled, shoulders slumping forward in the slightest of gestures. Her answer disappointed him. How much magic did she know, anyway? Would she at all be a suitable instructor of magic when they were ready? That's when his gaze shifted to the human resting against the tree. Jeron narrowed his eyes as he stooped down to pick up the scroll, a deep scowl lining his face as he hastily stuffed it in his bag. If anyone was going to teach him about magic, it would be that man, though he had a feeling the human would be less conducive to the idea of assisting a half-drow than Chamera was. Jeron wanted the man awake in order to gain his power, otherwise he'd rather leave him for dead. Once the human awoke, Jeron would have to keep his distance until--

Chamera's question threw Jeron off guard. He turned his head to look at her, blinking rapidly in surprise, both eyebrows raised. "No," was his immediate, instinctual response, followed by the urge to scoot back  a few feet, away from the fire. He immediately regretted it; the air's evening chill felt uncomfortable without the warmth of the flames, and after all they had just been through, all that Chamera had seen of him already, he was being quite foolish.

Jeron knew he needed to tend to his wounds; falling ill was a matter of life and death to him. He also knew he could not tend to them alone, as much as he wished it. The very idea of having Chamera, or anyone else, touch him in any manner made his stomach twist in knots and his mouth go dry, but to refuse help when it was offered was too dangerous a decision to ignore.

"I-I mean yes," he snapped, his fear coming out in a snide tone. Didn't he just touch her a moment ago? It was on his own terms -- him touching her. This was entirely different.

With a sigh, he shoved a hand into his bag and pulled out a fist-ful of the weed he used to tend to Chamera's wounds. He dropped these plants on the ground, not bothering to wait for her to simply take them from him. "Chew that up as finely as you can," he remarked gruffly as he turned around. "Don't swallow it. Smooth it on my wounds -- make sure you cover every area of open skin. Don't worry about being gentle; I will be in pain regardless." With his back facing her, he gingerly attempted to pull his tunic over his head, as much as he would dare. The fabric had stuck to the skin of his open wounds; he hissed in pain as he peeled the shirt away. He didn't take it off completely -- instead it bunched across his shoulders, forcing him to hunch over. It was an awkward position, but Jeron refused to reveal more of his skin, even though Chamera had seen much of his body already. Open gashes lay across a collection of scars all over his back; this was not the first time he had been beaten in this manner. "Make it quick," he snapped, hoping his body wasn't trembling too noticeably, biting down on his bottom lip to keep his panic in check. If he had learned anything while growing up in this world, it was that nothing good came out of exposing any part or amount of his skin to anyone. It was impossible not to think that something bad was about to happen to him, his mind beginning to run through possible escape scenarios.