The wince at the mention of decaying is replaced by a faint smile. That was sweet of Ronan to look for his body.

"You're not a ghost expert, Ronan." Noah may not be, either, but he knows more than the others. He can feel it, the ebb and flow of the ley line and Cabeswater and whatever's making him him. It's rotting, he's becoming less than. He's catching up with his physical body.

He traces a finger along the fabric of Ronan's bedspread, looking down instead of at Ronan.

"Cremisius thinks Dorian can help me, but I'm just a skeleton. I don't think there's anything to be done," he says slowly. "I wanted to see you. You talked to me..." He glances back up.