Raistlin's mouth turns down in an angry frown. He ignores Guts, rather pointedly, and starts clearing a space to make a fire.

"If you are able, collect some wood and tinder. If not, I will. You've sustained wounds, and they need tending. For that, I need hot water."

So last night wasn't a dream. He's still here, trapped and powerless, without friends or allies -

But at least his magic is back. He can feel it shimmering, just under his heart, and keeps worrying at it like it might vanish if he doesn't keep one eye on it. He'd cast a simple fire spell, to celebrate, but he can't even manage that in his reduced state.

"Well? Can you or not? We haven't got all morning."