He’d kill for a chair.

Not literally.

… Maybe literally.

His eyes slid to the chair, but he'd probably just have to get up again anyway.

“Or before,” he shrugged. “I’m looking for unusual skinning, chunks missing – not including wild animals. Bodies that were tampered with by tools.”

Aslan smiled, though it was forced. Crane was always so accommodating. That was going to get him killed one day, probably.

“No, no. I’ve time, I’ve time. Just point me the right way.”

Anywhere but home.

“Oh,” he said, offhandedly. “Completely unrelated – you’re Catholic, right?”