Tidus doesn't trust in that calm tone. He knows it--knows that it doesn't mean anything, all depends on the individual wielding it and what they believe right. Not even Roland's explanation placates the frustration in him, being made to sat there and not taking anything serious while the guy was bleeding right in front of him.

But Tidus holds his tongue, lets Roland speak. Not needing to be waited for when the man turns, since Tidus has watched him walk off without a word too many times to allow him to try that act here, right now. The magic in his hands having been dulled to an invisible state, the bitter-chewed expression keeping its place on his face.

"You sit back in, put up your leg, and I'll get something to clean it before I heal, if that's what you want. We can get food after. You don't need to be walking on it."

It's a simmering level, calmer in volume than he'd spoken before, but far from calm. Playing the rational game as Roland's providing it, but not covering the fact he's unhappy, willing to get in a huff again.

Because he is.