He watches Aden go through his sheaths, thinking appreciatively about the kind of organization you need to keep track of all that the right way and trying to pretend his mind is empty, that that's the only thing going through his head right now. Then he takes the sheath, and it's almost a relief to put the blade of the knife away, and the Bull wonders why. Doesn't need another question crowding up his head, dismisses it, and looks for a place to put the knife instead. No belt to attach it to -- didn't come with the weird-ass Fade prisoner uniform -- so he hooks the sheath's strap onto one of the loops on his shorts and watches the weight of the thing start tugging at the shorts like it's going to pull them down.

He sighs.

"Damn thing," he mutters. "Well, lead the way, I guess, unless you want to grab anything else. What kind of walk are we talking about?"