[ Wash just waits there a moment, lets Byerly settle into place, lets him relax. He's always been observant, always tended to watch people so closely, but there's something different about the way he looks at him now, focused and intent, drinking him in, counting his breaths, noticing it when the rhythm slows and steadies. That's good.

There's maybe the slightest upward quirk of his mouth, a smile, something amused at his words. Glorious spot. Sure. Wash doesn't know where the hell they are, either, and doesn't particularly care. He drops his hand from Byerly's shirt, braces it somewhere above his head against the bark, keeps that arm braced against his throat. Pushing in a little, still not enough to really do anything, but. ]

Hands on my arm. [ A slight tip of his chin. His voice is calm, matter-of-fact. ] I'm going to count to five, and I want you to be doing that in your head. You might not be able to hear me.

When you get to five, tap two fingers against my arm. Either hand. Your choice.

[ Waiting for acknowledgement, expectant. This is a test. ]