Alain meets that look steadily, holding the wood in place as best he can. It isn't easy, with his hands numbly aching from the burns, but he does it.

"I know he's dead," he says, in answer to the question Roland hasn't asked, and pins the ribbon against the wood with one finger, so Roland can work with it easier. "And that I'm like not to live to see him again, in any event. Still, can't help but wish for him here, when we could use both gunslingers and surgeons." Not that Jamie had ever been a surgeon, truly, but he was a damn sight better at field medicine than most of them. And he might at least have had two working hands, which Roland and Alain barely have between them at the moment.

Still, between them, they can just about get the work done, and that's what counts. Alain grits his teeth against the pain and, when the leg's splinted, turns to haul at the stupid wire-and-gauze wings on his back. Some of them can be salvaged - wire's nothing to be sniffed at in a place like this, and the gauze he stuffs into his pocket, along with Homilies and Meditations, to use as bandages later - but mostly he just wants the bedamned things gone.