"Merlin, I could have married someone who'd give me a little sympathy for killing half the town," he muttered. He really did feel like he'd been trampled by hippogryffs, but it could be because he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, and she was right, he hadn't showered.
"What day is it?" he mumbled, honestly having no idea. He took her hand, giving her a sheepish and apologetic look, and wincing once more as she pulled him out of bed. All his bones cracked, and he let out a sigh as he got his balance, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Have you heard any more news? Is anyone else sick or dead?" There was no point in beating around the bush with that - every death from this pox was on his conscience, and he was going to atone for them.