"Oh? And who's going to do it if I don't?" Prior's flat question can't even be properly leveled without some amount of exasperation (and guarded, but misplaced affection). Could so few moments bring kinship into such sharp contrast? The weight of instability leaves Prior's arms heavy and he sighs.

"We'll go at first light. The flare will scare off the wolves." His certainty and resolve aren't as strong as before, but there is a level of trauma and blood loss that's warring with his desperation and the waning adrenaline means he can't fight forever. So he sits and he sighs and he fusses to try to see more of what he can do to help Fitzjames be more comfortable. It won't be much, but anything should be better than the alternatives.