Symon coughed, gasped wetly, his gills fluttering helplessly in the air, trying to expel the water that was still tainting them. Lady Denholm's charm lay on his chest, a fine, hairline crack over its face. The grey didn't seem to be spreading, but it stretched over his pale skin a network of taint and pain.

The man pushed himself up, bracing himself with his hands pressed behind him. "Swam in the lake," He managed to get out, his normally smooth voice rough, weak. "Something...there must be something in it, in the water maybe." He coughed again.