"'M all right," he says, and it feels like a gasp, like he's coming up from deep water. He clutches at Max's hand, and his other hand settles into Nimona's fur, and he shuts his eyes tight for a long beat and then opens them again.

Slower: "'M all right. It's not ... bad."

And it isn't; nothing about this feels bad. It's just intense, almost overwhelming, the rumble and sway of memory deeper than pain or rage or loss. Home, says that feeling without words, home, home, home.