That comes across clearly enough that Evan feels as if he's sitting on a burr: itchy to move, deeply uncomfortable, pricked enough to be annoyed. Imber is picking up on the atmosphere and fussing, and Evan wraps him up tighter in a hold, and stands. It's too much, and Evan, conflict-averse as he's prone to being, sees nothing more tempting than the treeline.

"Excuse me," he tells Keith, red-faced with embarrassment and discomfort. "I think it's best if I, um, go."