“The fruit on the Farm, maybe — kind of made my mouth numb when I tried it — but they wouldn’t poison their own people, would they?”

Or maybe they would. He doesn’t know much about what Winter would and wouldn’t do, not really. With Baker off him and safely in Childermass’s arms, he rolls to his feet and heads back to the pool to splash water on his face. Last thing he wants is his face wounds getting infected by magic doggy drool on top of whatever else was on Strange’s claws. He keeps an eye to Childermass and Baker, content that the plan seems to have worked for the moment. Though he does sadly have to burst Childermass’s bubble —

“We aren’t leaving just yet. The fae need time to rest up. Camping in the Wyld Lands for the night is an option, but we might end up getting jumped, too.” His gaze drifts, searching for a horizon he can’t see. “There’s still the rest of the technicians to worry about. They might not believe she’s gone so easily.”