[He's miserable. Miserable. Cold and tired and huddled up under a lonely blanket up on one of the treehouses, unwilling to create a fire out of fear of burning the whole thing down (not that it'd matter much, with that amount of water everywhere, but it'd still suck to be caught up in it). He wants decent food, a decent bed, a decent bath, and he's getting none of it. If he whines too much, he fears being called a pampered jerk or something of the sort, so even that is out of the question. His feet are cold. He hates this.
On top of everything else, he's unable to relax enough to fall asleep, the fog's effect keeping him up, giving him an eerie feeling he doesn't enjoy at all. He's half-expecting demons and undead to start crawling up from the water.]