If he were conscious of Metody's thoughts on the matter, Jason would smile despite himself at the thought of a crack-and-go blessing.

He snaps a few more of the packets open and jams them down inside his parka and boots and gloves. Core first, extremities next, and... his arm is still injured, there is that small detail.

He watches the bones dance-- there is no other word for it-- vaguely bemused, then slings off his leather satchel for more rummaging.

(An extra scarf. Not exactly a sterile bandage, but infection isn't an issue for him anyway and it's better than nothing.)

"Yes, that's quite-- quite enthusiastic," he observes to Cheerful Dancing Bone Cuisinart. "You were most... helpful. Thank you."