Bearclaw Valley snake oil

A sharp scoff, a look back. Fuck no, he retorts, buoyed by his smile. He feels a little less like he's just been dragged through the digestive system of a lawn mower and more like himself pre-fight (which hadn't been so hot in the first place either).
The poultice is still warm from Evien's mouth, and some of it drips down his jaw and neck. He shudders at the strange sensation, and vaguely thinks that he'd rather go without all the fuss. Then he remembers sepsis. Then he remembers gangrene and terrible keloid scars, and he makes up his mind to go through with it.
This is rosehip, right? And then with a smile, See, I'm learning.
It doesn't sting as much as he expects it to, but he still fights the instinctual urge to pull away. There was a gaping difference between pain from a fist fight and pain from a treatment that made the latter much more irritating. Probably because one had to sit perfectly still and calm through it, he reflects. Like torture, but in the opposite direction.