Phillip almost winds up doing nothing, or at least as good as, with how thoroughly Gustavain takes command of the field. He can honestly say he's never seen him like this, and while he hasn't personally tagged along as a helper in one of his fights yet, he has seen him in battle, both as a bard and a healer. The man in front of him now is still recognizably him, but most of that recognization is only to his face. He's never seen him move quite like, fight like that. He's certainly never seen him take that kind of mad, wild joy in the midst of battle.

The silence stretches between them for a moment, the soft drip against the sand barely adding to the sea of red that stretches around them. It's horrible, all of it, but Phillip finds he can't tear his eyes away. "...Are you alright?" he asks after a moment, catching his breath. He's asking about his wounds. He is not asking about his wounds.