Silas scratched his head in confusion as everything unfolded. Mayhaps the stroke was finally settling in, but Helena of the warrior kingdom Ferox was in their midst, and all of a sudden everyone’s friendly. [i]I was looking forward to seeing a fight, too. With drama! Oh man what if it turns they were related or something, and—[/i] Silas shook his head lightly, dismissing the thought. It may not be stroke, but the heat was definitely getting to him. As the word ‘Shepherd’ was tossed around casually, his eyes brightened. In his excitement in the prospect of seeing potentially two stray Shepherds here, he was hit deftly in the face with a canister and a sack. Managing to catch the provisions in his hand, before he could protest injury, the weight of the canister felt weighted but fluid as he lowered his hands. This was water, wasn’t it?
Curious, he shook it around once or twice, deciding it was indeed water, and without a second thought, took a small swig. The glorious liquid flowed down his throat. It wasn’t cold, by any means, but it felt a whole lot better than sand. As he finished the first gulp, he lowered the canister, taking a good look at it.

With a guilty look, he passed it back to Talbot without hesitation. He’d drank half the canister without so much as a glance to his friend, who was clearly suffering more than him. Bowing his head apologetically, he handed him the rations, as well. He turned back to the scene, his eyes caught sight of the previously threatened woman, who now bawled at the feet of Helena.
“H-hey, we’re Shepherds too! We—“ Cut off once more to another coughing fit, he resigned his statement. His throat felt better, but there was still sand lodged in there. He wheezed, albeit audibly, “Gods damnit, what kind of asshole makes a home out of the desert?”