"Then perhaps that is something I can do for you. Climbing quickly has saved my life ten times more often than I have fingers at the least." And he'd not precisely hidden the fact that he was missing a finger on his left hand. There was no way to - it was simply a part of his life and he didn't think twice about it. "It's something I will have to become practiced in once more. At ninety-two, I could move at a walk and little more. I coughed anytime I moved more quickly, my lungs burning. I have much to regain."

He had already decided to begin running, to explore, to build himself back up to where he had been. He would climb, balance, jump. In time, he would fight, spar, and bring back movements that had been instinctive, muscle memory more than conscious thought. And before long, he thought, he would feel like his old self again.