He's got his hand fisted against the his side, holding the already rather soaked jersey knit to the wound, biting his lip to keep himself in the present. It's beginning to soak through his fingers, but at least it's not gushing. He's trying not to look at it.

He can't help but jerk back a little, but he doesn't really have anywhere to go, and he notes that Link's already put away his sword. That's good. He'll try to relax as best as he can, laughing. This was a whole lot happening in less than a few minutes. Not hysterical! This is just absurd.

"I just need... ten minutes." He shakes his head. "Just need to not pass out. I can't cast that more than once every minute or so. Just... need to stay awake." He looks at Link, trying to make eye contact, keyhole pupils widening in the dark. "You okay? I didn't hurt you, right?"