Two things had been learned that day: if his bite woke people up, it put them right the fuck back under again too. The second thing? Blood highs, for all their healing properties, did fuck all for his fever. Like zilch, nothing. Fuck you, Handy, you were stuck with your illness for its duration. It was getting better, yeah, but damn it all, getting rid of it would have been nice. He had exited the inn and sprinted away into the night, keen to put some distance between him and the small hamlet.