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Although his voice was rough, Trent sensed that there was no ill will in the other; he had proved that much by staying. Trent barely registered his own breathing, but was made aware of it by the dark male and tried to breathe deep and slow instead of the huffy, speedy-paced breaths he had been taking. The touch on his arm made him shiver, a feeling both pleasant and guilty, but in the state that he was in, Trent wasn't about to object. This felt like his last hope, like the thing he needed to get better again, even though he knew it was opposite.
He was glad when the male started to talk, and stared up at the black and grey male as he watched him struggle finding something to talk about. His voice was rough around the edges, but all the more alluring through it, soothing even if his tones were far from soft.
The words barely registered, but perhaps it was because Trent had not even seen the horse standing around so he had no idea who or what the dark-furred stranger was talking about. He only heard strands of stories, fragments of words, but that didn't matter; it was the rough voice that pulled him through, not the words it created.
Finally the pain stopped. Long strands of cinnamon mane lay mostly on the ground below his face, some in his face, some in his neck. Trent lifted a quivering hand to pull them back, and felt sick as he pulled the weird-looking paw through the mane and pulled them back. "Thank you." The words didn't exactly sound heart-felt, even though they were genuine. Trent still shook a little as he looked up at the dark male, suddenly feeling rather strange and out of place so close to someone else. "I uh... 'm Trent." The words came out awkwardly, an introduction that felt way overdue, and realising that he'd been staring at the dark-furred stranger that had helped him so generously, Trent looked to the ground submissively, averting his gaze.