Ardnt felt it when he was moved around, brought to awareness by the sting in his limbs. Mostly that was what he focused in on; the cold and the foreign object protruding out of his body. Not whatever was pulling him up. There were voices. Too many for him to separate though he did hear the word alcohol. That was promising at least. He wanted to be left alone but he was slow to respond; much too slow to actually swat anyone away. The shivering started once he'd been laid back down, somewhere warmer at least than the bed he'd made in the boat. His clothing had to be damp and he briefly registered some of it was being cut away, and then someone trying to communicate with him.<br/><br/>“Mm,” the man gave a grunt to signal that he had heard, yet he was past the point of being able to form anything more coherent than that. He'd not protested about the knife being pulled away mostly because that hadn't really registered yet. At least until it was being extracted from his shoulder, and suddenly his vocal cords could form actual words.<br/><br/>“Piss on your mother's grave!” he shouted, almost reflexively, simply hollering next when alcohol was poured into already stinging skin. His eyes were open now, considering his situation more closely, the pain more than enough to think maybe he ought to be a little more awake. He was moving his arm around and Ardnt, with his good hand, reached to grab the stranger's wrist, at least until he had a better idea someone wasn't just fucking with him. He was making an attempt to sew him up. Not someone just trying to steal the ornate knife to leave him for dead. He'd been sewn up enough times that the feeling of a needle was almost familiar. The worst of it was over, the knife removed without hesitation. Not by someone being hasty but someone with a more clinical approach. His hand had fallen away weakly, giving up on trying to impede the man's task. He snorted at his offered words, something probably meant to soothe and reassure.<br/><br/>“God has<i>never</i>been on my side,” Ardnt rasped, his voice sounding dry in his throat. It went quicker when he was still. There was someone else, but too far away for Ardnt to pay much attention to, not with the one close, threading his skin back together with an easy expression on his face, as if this wasn't anything. It was more uncomfortable once they were alone, the stranger having nothing more to do once he'd put away the tools he was using. Ardnt had spent most of his life worrying over being recognized that he didn't much care to be under such direct scrutiny. Ardnt looked at the stitching, as neat as anything he'd ever seen. Many of his old scars looking more like a patchwork job were hidden beneath the shirt that was hanging only partially onto his body. The man, still staring, at least the decency to offer him some of the alcohol, saying that it wasn't a vice during a time like this. Ardnt refrained from snorting again, thinking a little drink here and there were probably the least serious of any of his vices.<br/><br/>He grunted again as he pushed himself up enough to reach for the bottle, taking a heavy swallow, unwilling to part with it just yet. The skin hot and swollen around the wound, pulsing and uncomfortable but he'd be okay. It had just been a long time since he'd been stabbed. He'd forgotten what it was like. Better than having to fish around for a ball of lead. He considered the man standing over him, done up in all his proper robes, it all becoming more obvious, especially with his drivel about god.<br/><br/>“Well, shit.” He wasn't sure if he was extremely lucky or hopelessly unfortunate.