He straightens up slightly and rolls his shoulders, winces and arches his back as he tries to work out where else is sore.

"Triceps, maybe? I don't know if it will help, but they're still -- well, sore. Like everything else."

Lancelot lifts one arm a little and squints down at his muscles, as if he can tell somehow by sight if they need something, then up at Faolan questioningly.