Waking again is a slow process. He's vaguely aware of his surroundings as he fades in and out, rousing briefly only to fall back asleep when awash with comfort from the fire or the furs, or the odd arm wrapped around him. It takes hours before he's able to keep his eyes open - or eye, as the left one is still swollen badly enough to not be functional.

He blinks through blurred vision. The roar of pain in his chest has dulled to a soft, persistent gnawing, that sharp headache faded to just the discomfort of the swollen muscles and tissue in his face. He feels sturdier than he had when he'd fallen asleep, and realizes there are tight bandages wrapped about him.

There's no way of knowing how much time has passed, but he's aware that he's horribly thirsty, even a little hungry. It's a good sign. It means that his body's recovered enough to move out from that survival state, on to craving the things it needs to continue on rather than remain in stasis.

He licks his lips, mouth dry like the desert sands. His head picks up and he surveys the cabin briefly.