Roland still hasn't figured out quite where his mouth's got to but he can tell its lips are drawn back, can tell he's baring his teeth. Seldom has he regretted not being broad shouldered and solid built, not having the kind of body which could pull a wagon behind it, if it wanted. His muscles are as well tended to as any weapon he's ever owned; they do what they need to. But now, here, with horror and that black bile warring for control of his stomach, with all the shifting parts of his body shuddering out of time with each other, getting this man's cooperation is non negotiable.

"Focus!" he shouts, taking the look of confusion at face value. If there were more time Roland could try and touch his mind, try and get through to him that way. Does Roland even have the concentration for it, like this?

"You'll die if you stay, do you understand that? You'll die, or worse. Unless you move!" On that last word his hand not gripping the man's shoulder rises and moves, meaning to try and slap the confusion off that face. There's no time for anything nicer.