He snorts at that, faintly. Someone else's responsibility. They don't have to look after him anymore. Don't have to...care, at all, really, for the man who used them, callously and without regard for their well-being. Don't even have to pretend to care.

So what's one last walk?

"Sure." He pauses only to cut a fresh "X" into the trunk of the nearest tree. The knife stays out - and whose instinct is that?

He tips his head back, briefly, to survey the canopy, listening to the sound of the waves lapping up against the shore.

"Hell of a day for it."