This isn't Montreal, this is that place. The... the Black Tide. He cracks open an eye right as Geralt heaves him over his shoulder and he groans a little.

"S-supposed to heal. Shitty time to, t-to get hurt. Faster at the moon." He's speaking slowly, trying to make sure he's understood. He feels like he's talking with marbles in his mouth, and his sinuses feel like someone shoved cotton up his nose and threaded it into his brain.

It doesn't hurt anymore, at least.

Oh. Oh, that's Lily. He gives a thumbs up, though he's not sure if she can see him or not. Wherever he is. He's not even entirely sure if he's upside-down.