He sets aside his improvised walking stick, leaving it leaned up against the bin that had saved them. Or, rather: Oscar's quick thinking had saved them. It certainly seems he's underestimated what the boy can do on his own.

Still. It feels incredibly uncanny to walk beside Oscar like this, knowing what every step feels like from within that body, feeling none of it now. It's a bizarrely out-of-body sort of experience.

"It seems a bit soon to say." This is said like mild reassurance, but Oscar knows him better than most, to put it lightly. He's uneasy. "You know much more of this world than I do."

At least he has his cane. He falls into the rhythm of walking with it, and that is steadying, as it always is. It makes him feel more like himself, nebulous though that concept is— and all the more jarring with Oscar beside him.