Her eyes flit over to the back of his head every so often while his voice drowns out all other sound: crunching of leaves, dull thud of earth, snapping of twigs. For all of its interruptions, and stutters, and staccato delivery, the continuity of it is oddly comforting for Jyn. Something consistent to cling to while her mind worked so furiously to keep the voices and holograms of days long gone at bay. It's almost like she's clinging to the last drop of lucidity the fever's allowed her, and something in Bodhi's voice keeps her there - something is familiar, in the voice and in the man himself. She isn't why or what or how, but it feels a bit like reuniting with a friend after many years.

Not that she's had friends. But she imagines this is what such an event would feel like.

Prison camp. Gaze snaps up as her feet refuse to move further.

"Prison camp," she murmurs, now resuming her pattern of pacing and mumbling to herself. "Prison camp. Prison. Prison. Prison camp." It's like she's stretching over an impossible crevasse, one foot precariously balanced at the edge, arm extended to its limit, fingers gliding across the surface of what she's meant to grab onto. "Arrest. Arrest. Prison camp. Vallt. Separtist prison." Closer, closer she edges. "Prison camp. Labor camp. Twenty years. Twenty years in a labor camp." Fingers tap dully against her temple, eyes squeezed shut - almost. "Wobani. Liliana Hallik. Tanith Pontha. Jyn Erso. Erso. Alliance." Eyes snap open, find Bodhi - something like recognition is in her eyes for the first time since he'd found her. "B-Bodhi?"