Great, sorted, they had done all they could there. Sitwell carefully arranged his water bottle next to the discarded packet of inedible cookie and pulled the fur tighter around his shoulders, thinking, perhaps, that if they were really going to press on as usual he should maybe put some clothes back on. Yes, that would be a fine next task with immediately rewarding results. Only, when he dragged his pants closer, they were stiff almost all the way through, and it almost would have been better, Sitwell thought, to leave them on and live with it then to have to put them back on and reintroduce himself to the displeasure. This had become a really, in every possible way, disappointing assignment. All he really wanted was a little warmth and comfort to calm his revolting stomach; the water had only done the opposite, kicking off a slowly building frenzy of sense now awoken to what could be. Sitwell had to roll forward on his knees to curl tightly against them then, groaning an agony from deep in his throat that wasn't all hunger and wasn't all despair. Focus, what was the next task? Eat. Eat something.