Not in the fight, thankfully, no. He was waiting at our camp. When I didn't come back he came to find me, and the poor boy spent a day carrying things to me there in my little cave.

[He glances fondly down at Wuffles and nudges him affectionately with his foot.]

I was in rough shape. There were a few times I was certain I was going to die. At one point I woke up feverish and delirious and downed all the rest of my water before I passed out again. The next morning, I had to send Wuffles to get more. But I also turned a corner and started getting better. Two weeks later I was nearly good as new.

[He chuckles like that was an amusing anecdote rather than "that time I nearly died delirious with a gangrenous shoulder wound alone in a cave."]

I could have died any one of those nights. If my fever got too bad, or if my body couldn't heal well enough. If I didn't drink all that water, I might have never woken up again. And if the arrow hit me an inch to the right, I'd have died instantly.

Really... I've come close to dying a lot, for one man. And any one of those could have been the one, if only one little thing was different.