"It's - well, the war's been through me, and I've been trying to duck," James smiles slightly and drains his own cup. "Do you want to go up? I checked someone's stitches and scolded them, brought some water around, and checked on the guy with the fever. It doesn't seem to be getting worse. I'm not -"

He picks up his phone. "No one's expecting me back and - well - anyone who'd want me would probably be messaging me this way."

He looks tired and like he probably didn't eat enough. The cuffs of his trousers are a little damp, and he's wearing a coat with a patch that - probably says it's the one he was shot in. Probably hedging his bets.