He takes an involuntary step back as the cloaked person steps forward. Everything about this screams to run and yet there’s no where to go - and he cannot possibly outrun anyone. His mind, normally so calm and steady, a bedrock for others, starts to churn. Gotta buy some time, gotta think. Gotta - gotta protect Phi, gotta find the compass.
Brandishing the cane in the space between them, his thumb pushes the button that ejects the knife at the base, while his other hand searches for buttons and tries to dive between layers to find the compass. It’s somewhere - in some pocket, beneath everything. Beneath Phi. Oh Ophelia, cold and so out of place, but the flash of claws and fur has alerted her tiny, sensitive nose, and she does what monkeys do best - raises a ruckus while trying to climb higher. She screams and howls into the unforgiving air, the combination making it entirely impossible for Falke to find what he’s looking for.
