Everything hurt. From the inflamed wounds across his body to the tiniest of cuts hurt ever worse once he was sure he would die there in the street. He panted heavily, his head spinning. His mouth was dry like a desert, and the moldy bread he'd eaten hadn't helped. His bony hips prodded the cobblestone in a painful kind of way, but he was too weak to bother moving. 

Then, suddenly, he felt someone grab onto him and haul him up. Zinzie let out a pained groan as his legs wobbled underneath him. He could barely hold himself up, even when leaning heavily on the stranger. He couldn't find the breath in between pants to answer the man's questions, but he tried. 
"Yes, please," He rasped, "Please, before they find me. Thank you." 

The tavern grew quiet when they staggered in the door. Zinzie was a sight for sore eyes. He wasn't sure what his rescuer looked like, but it was probably pretty strange. Zinzie began to feel slowly optimistic again. Maybe all hope wasn't lost. If he could hold out for a bit longer, he could most certainly recover. He would be home again in no time, assuming he could find his home.