He shook his head just a little at the apology, arm having curled around Frankie's waist again, head still pressed to his chest, "It's not like that, usually." He wasn't sure how he was so sure of that, but on the cusp of sleep it was easier to be sure of most things.

"It's usually like... fish. The little silver ones, in a stream?" His voice was still little more than a murmur, and less-slurred than it had been a moment before, which was probably a good thing, even if it was only because he was speaking more slowly, "Scatter if you move too fast. This was different. Like thorns. Barbed wire in the mud. I dunno, maybe both things."