The wind's sharp howl snaps his head up, away from a task that's fruitless, just an outlet for restlessness, all bent and sharp angles. If he keeps moving, if he keeps doing something, he can ignore the elements all that much longer.

As his head whips up, caught in that sudden sound amidst the white wisps, his eyes catch the curving of the headstone, half buried.

Might as well check, he reasons, tireless in only his bulldog tenacity. He jumps to it, a blink in spacetime, and gets to clearing, once again.