He looks back enough to watch the man speak, snorts, his eyes moving from Klim's hand to the knives. He looks over the smile too, and no part of his face so much as twitches in response. It'd been a long time hunched in that cave, hearing those voices and using the feeling of the stone of his necklace - tucked now under his shirt - to steer his mind toward memories of a more recent voice instead, a long time working to remember the touch of another living hand. And then his son's voice, go then -

The anger is draining fast, as Roland'd expected it would. Something will fill him up in its place, of course. In a while.

Roland looks away again and takes a couple steps, movement his feet want to turn into pacing. He stops them, half-turned, and flicks his right hand in a brusque gesture toward the flock of birds. "Please yourself." The hand lowers, squeezes the bridge of his nose between its two remaining fingers and its thumb. "They followed you all day. Suppose you're a stronger man than I. Don't know how you bore it."