If Henry’s grown even a smidgen of empathy since his stay in this world, it only flares at a select few things. Clean clothes made dirty by way of stumbling into the mud, courtesy of the weather? While middling, it would bother him, too — old, fastidious habits born of living in a lab for so long are not so easy to banish.

“Would you like some help?”

As would be expected of him. Maybe it’s pure habit now, this expectation, from living in Solvunn for too long. Doubtful he would have offered it at all just a year or so ago, not so habitually.

“I have a feeling you could be carrying too much for one man,” he continues, suggesting that Arthur hasn’t the frame to not be awkwardly burdened by lugging around supplies. “And I’m heading this way, too.”