"Hey, I said I'd tag along--you're the one who volunteered." It was a little odd to hear any day referred to by a day of the week, but that measure of time had broken down for him well before he crawled out of the fountain.

Like Bela, he was layered up against the cold--somehow he'd gotten his new slim-fit jeans to go inside one of the slightly over-sized pairs his last incarnation had ferreted away. It left him a bit stiff, his legs set out to one side instead of bent under his seat, but he was warmer for it, and he had a few sweaters piled on under Ty's coat. He'd brought gloves for them both, and his ability to start a fire was, as always, related to the hoarding of material goods. He'd found a flint and steel in the piles of stuff he'd moved into the brick house.

"How did you expect it to go: a quiet night with a cup of tea by the fire, read the same water-damaged book for the sixth time?" That was more or less what he'd been pulled away from, and he wasn't sorry for it. "I'm just glad nobody seems to come through in the other village, I don't want to hike out there again in this weather."