"Manhattan? Couple weeks. Here?" He shrugs, rolling one shoulder stiffly. "Who knows."

He eyes the empty chair dubiously, eyes flickering darkly to either side, to the boy and back. He can't think of anything less relaxing than sitting still at this place, but it's not like dendrophobia is especially common. The deceptively pleasant atmosphere almost makes it even worse; it's the sensation that there's something incredibly off-kilter and wrong suspended in the space between tree trunks.

Or maybe he's just paranoid.

Which is the more likely option.

He turns his thoughts back to contemplating the chair with a disproportionate level of suspicion.