[Well, so much for that tender moment of optimistic affirmation. Carlisle goes from encouraged to appalled in the span of a second, his eyes flicking to the reindire; he gives it a hard, disdainful glare, as though it chose to ooze itself all over Qubit's hand —

The reindire looks back at him in tandem, its head moving at nearly the same time as his own. Carlisle's expression remains, but his eyes widen in private, subdued alarm. They are extensions of his will, he reminds himself, his own voice echoing in his head.

Forcing himself to look away from the reindire, he conjures an orb of water and offers it to Qubit, though he sincerely doubts it will do much against the foul muck coating Qubit's palm.]

This one is worse than Scraps because it isn't yet entirely dry bone devoid of decaying flesh. Duly noted. Perhaps you ought wash your hands while I, um... tie it to something, preferably far away.