"What does that...?" It's getting harder and harder to focus without squinting, the headache the sunlight has been giving him only worsening with a bizarre swiftness. "...will it work?" Yes, he's pretty sure that's right. "Unless the mushi are acting like a parasite from inside, yes, it should. They're very specific about what goes into one of those contraptions. I have a book on it, actually, but—"

But good God, his eyes. He tucks the pot and lid under one arm, freeing a hand to cover his eyes for a moment, shielding them from the nice, sunny day. That immediately lessens the growing pain.

"...what in the bloody hell... I was fine before I came out here," he mutters, trying to take his hand back off from over his eyes and only finding himself cringing away from the light (and the witcher and horse both) and slapping it back down again. He turns away, not quite doubling over, but close, as if putting his back to the sun overhead might help any.