Well. Either Jon is feeling better, or he's about to off himself. Either way, progression from being mired in numbness. Daemon claps him on the shoulder. Attaboy.

"That's the spirit, son."

Or, rather, the High Valyrian equivalent of such a saying; more like You're building the fire correctly now. That word, tresy, hangs there at the end, in context with the part of grammar that says Daemon is addressing someone directly. And now Jon knows what it means, knows that Daemon is casually referring to him as kin.

Stuck here together. What a fucking time.

They'll move on tomorrow, and see what there is to see.