"Ah."

As someone who often turns to his garden for comfort, the thought of a world without any touch of nature sounds... just terrible, really. A bit like the colorless Land Beyond Living he'll eventually be damned to. Perhaps that's why it unsettles him so, far more than Rosie's presence and the ink still trailing down his jaw, tracing the curves of his neck like a dark, black river.

He clears his throat, his good eye turning from her, and tries again.

"I... believe I am okay now."