His ability to think was returning with each passing moment. Each heartbeat pushed more of the drug through his system. Thinking was becoming easier, and he relished it. Having his wits about him had always been his only defense. To be senseless and weak of mind was to invite death.<br/><br/>When she brought back the soup and set it down before him he could think of nothing else beside the food. Picking it up, he gave a thankful nod and spoke a murmured, "Thank you, Mistress."<br/><br/>Picking up the spoon, he began consuming the soup as quickly as his awkward fingers could manage it. Though the task was difficult, he found he was quite enjoying the ability to do something for himself for once.