Methos's own horrible, slightly-rusty prize vanishes into the pocket of the long coat he wears despite the day's warmth. He grimaces slightly at the suggestion, but nods. Grappling a corpse couldn't be farther from what he'd planned for the day, but despite how badly the living, unhealing dead man has unsettled him, his curiosity's roused now.

"Just don't stick yourself with them. Nothing good ever comes of getting jabbed with something that used to be in a corpse."