[He lets Kyle steer him down the path, panic slowly sanding down to something less jagged under the weight of his hand on his shoulder. He shoves his focus there: the steadiness, the warmth, the forward motion of each step. His voice, a lifeline from the clamor of the birds. Kyle's words confuse him. So much so that it interrupts his spiral in the way a stray stone jars a cart's wheel from a rut.]
What?
[His hands are back at his sides, swinging along with his gait. For the moment, at least, he's not paying attention to what the shadow birds are hissing from their beaks.]
no subject
What?
[His hands are back at his sides, swinging along with his gait. For the moment, at least, he's not paying attention to what the shadow birds are hissing from their beaks.]