Volen turned to watch him, only for the sake of looking over those pouches that he had. It was rather an interesting bit of wares that the other carried with him. The man couldn't recall ever seeing something like it up close. He had no idea what they were all for, but he could guess that it was a nice little tool belt of usefulness. He imagined that someone like Wyl had to carry all sorts of things with them, from the powder he used on the dogs, to things to clean up his wounds. A man like him had to suffer a good deal, given his obvious profession. If you were going to live a life of peril, you had to be prepared for it.<br/><br/>As he offered to wash his wounds, Volen sighed. This wasn't going to be kind, even if the motions were familiar. Though he didn't dress himself, and he normally bathed himself, he did have attendants that would see to him on occasion. The times he needed wounds addressed, of course, were the most frequent. He healed quickly, but he wasn't always that lucky. Only the oldest attendant, Berar, would ever be in charge of this part.<br/><br/>Of course, the water was normally warm and Volen was usually well taken care of. They had a nice set of numbing herbs for the worst. He had always refused them in the field, but when he was close to others, he took any aid he could get. Now, however, the man just took in a deep breath and nodded as he adjusted to cross his legs fully in front of him.<br/><br/>The first run down of the wet shirt had his him flinching, twitching only when he couldn't control the reactions. Still, even pained, they were sluggish. His body seemed to be running low on what energy it had summoned to help them make the trip for the night. Volen just hung his head and closed his eyes while Wyl worked, draping his arms over those crossed knees. Despite the uncomfortable twitches, the man was almost dozing again by the time Wyl gave him a warning. A grunt came and, though Volen was a man of few words, this was particularly brief. He was only half awake.<br/><br/>Until the greenish liquid struck the first bit of raw flesh and exposed wounds. His back stiffened and his eyes opened. Every muscle in his back locked as it arched. His eyes flew open and stared ahead as his heart suddenly gave a stern thud, one that reverberated so well through that thinned body that Wyl would have been able to feel it, followed by an odd three-cadence flutter. His hands balled to fists.<br/><br/>"Silence," he hissed to himself. Another deep breath came and went, slowly drawn in and held for a few counts before it was pushed out at a measured pace. A shutter ran down him as Wyl continued, a little twitch at his neck before he was relaxing ever so slightly. He ran his tongue over his teeth, letting it pop nosily away before the man seemed to finally return to his normal albeit slightly bothered state. Thankfully, the question distracted him the rest of the way, and gave him something to focus on while he kept that pressure pent up in his chest.<br/><br/>"Judica," he finally answered in a distantly strained tone. That seemed fitting. It was an old word, the translation was usually thought of as it sounded - judged - but Volen knew it better for the old text he had poured over in his youth. The truest translation mean condemned, or sentenced. He took a breath, realizing that perhaps wasn't a practical name to be called. "Jude. That is common enough, yes?" He'd heard it before. Known a few soldiers by the name. He wasn't very imaginative, only thinking of things he had heard before.<br/><br/>He shifted ever so slightly, muscles twitching as he took in another deep breath and closed his eyes. He could feel it pushing back a bit more, testing.<br/><br/>"Or whatever you'd like. I don't know many names." Which was another 'I was raised under a book in the Church' indication. He tried to think of something that was plain and unsuspecting. He could only think of one other.<br/><br/>"There was a mouser in the barn where I stayed as a boy. The priests called him Alistair." He was rather fond of that tawny thing. It had been his only real contact for a good few sets of years. "That'd work, too."<br/><br/>As if the thudding hadn't been enough, his body had grown considerably warmer. The difference could be felt as the fabric pulled over his wounded flesh.