[Carlisle doesn't even budge as Qubit plucks the grass from his hair, more curious than cautious as he waits patiently to see just what it was he was reaching for in the first place. He nods appreciatively once he sees; he should've known there'd be some withered blades clinging to him, given how long he was lying in them. Three days. Carlisle still can't believe it, nor that Qubit diligently watched him that whole time.

... Well, no, actually — that part, he can most certainly believe. He dusts off the backs of his shoulders, just in case there are more bits of dirt and foliage stuck to him, and tries not to look as flustered as he suddenly feels. The reindire tries sidling up to Qubit again, only to stop when Carlisle clears his throat.]

Yes, a reasonable suggestion for us both. We'll resume this then. And you—

[He snaps his fingers as though it'd do any more to draw the attention of the creature in his thrall than his own voice.]

Back to the woods. I don't think Mister Qubit will appreciate you soiling him further.

[With that, he beelines for his shed-turned-home to collect some rope, the reindire following along behind him.]