He's been to times square before--to hand out pamphlets, to speak about the evils of Witchcraft. He simultaneously loved and hated how crowded it was--all of those people were thrilling but, ultimately, terrifying.

He's glad this village is smaller, at least. He's glad this woman has a pretty accent, the same as the freckled fellow that had tried to save him. He decides he likes British accents a lot more than he likes anything else at the moment.

Except, maybe, this snow.

"What's Los Angeles like?" He asks, because he feels he can be particularly adventurous with his questions. "Palm trees?"