"Oh, it hasn't in a very long time, and that was after an exceptional party. Don't think there's any risk of that now!" his tone is immediately back to jovial and chipper.

In Theo's mind's eye, a coily-haired, slight-of-build fellow frantically applies a poultice to the side of a wounded soldier. The poor healer is trembling like a leaf, but his eyes are firmly fixed on his patient. His adrenaline is surging, and every nerve is alive and braced to run. Everything's brighter, sharper, louder than it should be, his senses amped up to 11 in anticipation of the enemy sneaking up on him. He doesn't like this, not one bit, but he wants to do what he can, especially knowing that his Macaelius is off in some hellscape braving much, much worse...