He nods, because he was relieved to hear he's not likely to run into any of them, but he doesn't look especially pleased about it. The trembling is easing a little, though. For a long moment he rests his forehead on his knees, leaning against her slightly, then he rouses himself to reach under the bed. He draws out his battered old suitcase and opens it, and reaches into the deep pocket in the lid. Everything he owns is in here, apart from what he's wearing and his sword. There's about half a dozen shirts, another pair of jeans, some underwear and a shaving kit. But what he pulls out of the pocket is a small jewelry bag and a slim manila folder holding two photos, and a child's crayon drawing. He shifts to it cross-legged and pulls these into his lap.