[But as for the water— oh, he stops there once it's mentioned. Squeezes his grip a little tighter around that already abused portion of cloth before giving up the ghost, so to speak: short passage tracking its route from one damaged palm into a finely armored one. Something like a metaphor clinging for the lapse in his expression before a smile's worked back in.]

Ah.

I....erm. Very sweet of you, but there's no point in wasting your supplies, darling.

Trust me when I say I can make do.

[Last ditch effort, really. He's already turning slightly; running through the motions of bracing up for the scalding kiss of water on his skin. After all, the elf is right: better a few seconds of agony over hours spent scraping his own skin off in the dirt.]