[He huffs, turns, and bumps her arm with the side of his, in lieu of using his knuckles. You have no proof, Ryder of the Apocalypse.

It would help a lot, to remember. He wants to remember. But he also can't forget how he felt waking up, how overwhelming it had been, even when it came slow.

He smiles faintly over the novelty of her asking him that outright, even if the topic isn't his favorite. He shakes his head.]

I don't hunt... every day... My head's... still clear enough... I'll give it... a while more... No more than... a week though...

[Especially not that long when he's spending so much time with a living person.]

Lot's of time... for messing around... instead.