They're in public, so Martin won't let himself have a full-on breakdown, but it takes him a moment to reply as his chest hitches, and he has to fight down the urge to either sob or just get up, walk away into the forest and blow the whistle that hangs heavy around his neck to call the Lonely's fog to him. Or whatever approximation of it Deerington can manage. As it stands, he leans into Tim at last. Trying to take some comfort.

"Yeah. I-I don't know what else to do. He was gone for a long time after the Unknowing. Coma. The doctors said he should be dead and didn't think he'd ever wake up. I... said my goodbyes. But then he came back, and I just... I didn't get to say goodbye. To him. I-I never said goodbye to you, either. Your family didn't invite me to the funeral. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.