[His heart sutters at the mention of the bear—not in fear, never that, but in comedic rage. It is this bear's fault everything got worse and the child is now scolding him (is it?).]

Stop yelling. You're going to scare the kid.

[It's also making his head hurt. He smells the wine and angles his head just slightly toward it. Hmm . . . Will that worsen the toxin by relaxing him?]

A snake bit me. Patch yourself up first and then help me splint my left arm; it's broken. And watch out for that bear.