"Reckon that depends on your definition of cursed, Neville," Zach said back, his hand now clamped on the back of his neck, eyes staring at his midsection.
His mouth opened and shut a few times, trying to force his mouth around the words his entire adulthood of training rebelled against. Eventually, however, he managed it. "Right then. Good news is, you're not ill," he paused, "not really. The nausea will pass soon enough, though I can give you a potion to ease it up quicker if you'd like. Crackers and weak tea in the mornings should help as well until it passes for good."
He thought of Debi and smiled a little. "I might be able to salvage a Peep or two from the house if the craving strikes."