[For most of that, Quentin is just going to nod his head like his listening, while actually trying to figure out if starting at the other end of the town would be better. But it's closer to the water and too close to the Light house, and there's no way he's going to do anything that the light house lady might think is an attack.

He spears two hands in his his hair, cupping the back of his neck and pressing the heels of his hands to his temples as if that is in any way helpful to try and hold in all of the fear and the anger and gut-wrenching terror inside of him.

Not get yourself killed like it was just that easy. Like it was something that didn't happen or had almost happened so many times before that Quentin can't help snorting a bitter sort of laugh at that.]

Uh huh, like it would be on you anyway.

[And it's snide and childish and utterly pointless and it slips out anyway, like the filter he used to have between his mouth and his brain is failing. Or maybe it's just exhaustion talking, the way it's so hard to keep his feelings under wraps and not just kick things.]

Most people are covering it up pretty well, and also, I know who I left behind. They're going to be fine, but-- I still need to find a way out. And--and I appreciate this? The help? I need it and. I won't hurt your tracker. Not if I can help it. [There's really no reason to mention that if the spirits attack, there's nothing he could really do except hope his shield would hold out long enough for him to get away or get the lantern away.]