Twice fortunate, you are, Almad thought about the Breton, and equally foolish. Donning weighted armor on a small boat rowing through icy water was a sure way to dally with death, but he was not there to torment the man anymore than necessary. Dibella knew that smirking Farid would be more than willing to oblige.

"He needs heat," Ariane proclaimed. 

He glanced at the Breton man—soaked and quivering—and wondered if the lass truly believed herself to have made a genuine keen observation, or perhaps she spoke the common tongue of this crew, that of sarcasm, or "a waste of words" as his mother called it. A peculiar manner of speech for an unbecoming people, he thought as squinted his eyes. The mercenary folk he was accustomed to spoke plainly, and he saw nothing indicative of nobility or having knowledge of the inner workings of a court. Duly noted, he thought.

"Almad," he heard a man uttered. He turned to see it was Keegan, the tall golden skinned elf, who spoke. "Can you do anything?"

He nodded and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a rectangular box that was too large for one hand, untied and unwrapped the string, and grabbed a small wooden vial that had three marks—two vertical and parallel, and one laid horizontally in the center—carved in it. After uncorking it, twisting his lips when the pungent odor hit his nose, he covered the hole with a finger and directed a meager amount of magicka into the fluid he knew held a rich incarnadine hue that glowed slightly. 

"Pardon the taste." He held the Breton by his trembling jaw and the emptied the vial's contents without giving him a chance to protest, after which he aimlessly looked around and sighed. "The magic will warm you, but you will need to change your garments." He removed his robe and laid it over the Breton's shoulders. "There is enough cloth in this one to protect you from the elements and most cuts, and—"

The man's feet. Of course, he said to himself. He pulled a long dry cloth from his bag and removed the man's boots and wet socks. The cloth was cut in two and wrapped around his feet such that it was thick enough to withstand the cold though not to the point it was inflexible.

He stood up and exhaled as words churned in his mind. "You may want to consider guarding whatever entrance we find," he said. "Such an experience can leave you... hesitant when something unexpected happens." 

In truth, the Breton had not been in the water long enough to let the cold take him. He needed only a change of clothes and a moment of respite, and although Almad did not yearn to dampen the man's spirits, he did not want to entrust his health to someone frightened and so reckless either. As helpful as he may have been, his true intentions where to use the Breton's unnerved disposition to make the treatment and the suggestion seem more dire, and he hoped he did.