Look, Childermass is groggy and uncertain what else has happened while he's been out and kind of sore, like someone's punched through his back all the way to his chest. He doesn't have to cut anyone any slack, thanks, though he will drop questioning it once Peridot answers.

"You just never know what he puts in those," he mutters, a little lamely, but after that, he makes the effort to sit up properly. There's minimal grumbling, minimal wincing. Overall, he seems fine. He hopes that's true. Then he'll reach out and take the potion from her, giving it a closer look.

"Ah. This is from the caravan."

Well, at least that means it isn't 85% alcohol. Fine, fine, he'll open the bottle and drink it.