Every time he felt himself move closer to consciousness, it seemed that much harder to stay there. He couldn't stand being out of his own control this way. It reminded him too much of the time he'd spent struck with fever, in the holy land. When he'd been so unwell he could barely remember anything but the nightmares.
Whatever they'd given him was helping with the pain, and there'd been a lot of that. He could still feel his arm throbbing, but the sensation was dulled. A bit like his thoughts. He couldn't make sense of the passage of time. He remembered getting away from the hound long enough to get in to that room, and slamming the door even though he knew it wouldn't keep it out. Somehow with the arm that still felt like it was attached to his body he'd managed to make a shaky line of salt...and then he couldn't really remember any more. Not until Gisborne and Marian had shown up, anyway, and hadn't that been great. The last thing he needed was to owe that man anything.
He blinked his eyes open a few times, but they felt so weighed down they closed of their own accord. His back was starting to hurt again, but the second he tried to shift in to a more comfortable position, it sent a shooting pain from his shoulder down his arm, so he gave up trying. He was barely aware of where he was, and didn't think he had the energy to care. Which in turn should have been more concerning than it was.