"Fucking thing told us to kill someone," Amos grumbles, although that's... not entirely accurate. They'd had a choice, all of which were unpleasant to some degree, but murder had very much been an option offered to them. He accepts Hythlodaeus' hand on his shoulder, taking his time before properly righting himself, rubbing at his throat. "Don't get why it'd do this to us if that's something it wanted."

He's too distracted to really pick up on Hythlodaeus' sympathy or unease. To Amos, this is an annoyance that it's happening to him, specifically. People die. Sometimes he's the one to kill them. It's whatever. Being choked out every now and then is decidedly not whatever.

He drops his hand back to his side, taking a deep breath. Alright — it's okay now. When he turns to look back at Hythlodaeus properly, there's no real emotion in his eyes, in his voice. "I'm gonna kill it," he says, matter of fact, as though he's simply reciting his to-do list. "Figure that'll make it stop, too."