"They're probably both still in the woods." By reflex, Keith looks over his shoulder, narrowly missing a shadow that whirls and wheels and waves from a nearby booth, all limbs and a suggestion of teeth; it drops out of sight just as he faces forward. Helpful. "They can't be that far."

Even with a loss of memory, they're only human; there's no twinge in tendon or muscle to suggest that they've traveled for longer than a mile. Five at most.

"We'll find them," he adds -- but voicing that comes as an afterthought. It isn't usually, after all, Keith's place to be reassuring.