Nate kept his eyes closed as he listened, Regan's voice and the sounds of his movements. Each one was punctuated by a soft throb in his skull.

"I'd keep quiet," he mumbled, voice cracking from sleep and dryness, cracking his eyes open and staring pointedly at the vampire. "At least for now. That ancient is...off. Something's wrong. Wait for a while..." He hummed raggedly, rubbing his temples.

"As for me..." he groaned, standing, "don't worry. I'll figure myself out. You'd be surprised how often I have to deal with this."

He cracked a smile in an attempt at a joke, only to grimace with a throb of pain. He needed water. A quick handful from the bathroom. Something to make it go away.

He made his way there, opening the door and taking a step. Only to stop dead and stare.

Mud. Clumps of drying dirt and mud on the floor and covering his pants (those were definitely his still dirty with his own blood). The porcelain bed of the shower was streaked with it, as if it had been washed off and little else.

He wondered absently how he got in here without tracking any mud into the room. Well...at least now he knew where his pants had gone.