"The Fuck is a doctor," Sandor grumbled. He swatted her hand away from his chest (he would have been more forceful about it if he had the energy) and managed to get himself into a sitting position (it wasn't easy with all that armor). "And what do you mean you don't know who the fuck I'm talking about? I should've landed on the fucking cunt." He grunted and growled as he patted at the ground around him as if somehow he'd be able to feel his brother when his sight was lost to him.
Still. That nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right. Where was the smoke? Where was the fire? Why was the ground soft under his touch? Why wasn't he in as much pain as he'd been in a moment ago?
"Who the fuck are you?" And more importantly: "Do you have any fucking wine?"