There's an acorn in his pocket. There's a chisel, there's a wall. There's a guilty pinch to his brow, that has nothing to do with the swivel of water and grit.

He thinks about spilling his plan —

"Saw what I had to," He says, instead. Might be some faces up there still know him; but after last time, Cedric can't say he'd know them. "The rest's not coming back."

This hasn't been his city for a long time. Just needs the funeral.

"Been thinking on that, though. Riftwatch and influence." He smears the spoon clean on a fold of shirt. "Being little, that's gotta be half the point."