His fingers report back dutifully on rough skin and fabric across the palm and he's there, he's really there--! Devero manages a gasping inhale of breath and draws his hand back and gathers himself and that's when Koumyou's words penetrate: Anchoring. Drag you back.

Keep it together.

"Copy that," he rasps, rocking back. Somewhere beneath the stress and grief and fear of the past several days he finds that bedrock-solid core of himself. Anchoring to it, he jams Koumyou's ring into his pocket and slips the ARMS band on his wrist. He crawls out of the flap and stands, eyes sliding past Koumyou lest they fix there and to the tent.

"Just let me strike this," he says faintly, "get it stashed."