Yeah. Fine. [Hot, sweaty, tired, covered from head to toe in grit and salt-- but still breathing so that's more than he could say for the pack of bandits they've clearly left behind in the ditch. Panting he brushes at his forehead with the edge of his arm, rolled up sleeve catching the worst of the droplets sinking down across his brow and matted hair.] Never better.
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You feeling all dead yet?