[Tools are entirely by the by (By). Prior could have a box of them at his disposal and the likelihood of him reaching for the right one at the right time would remain low. As, surely, is the likelihood of anyone attacking him. Picking his way through the jungle like a wobbly-footed baby deer (one with equally morbid fears of stinging insects and potentially man-eating trees) he can hardly look like a threat.

He does need a rest, now it comes to it, but that doesn't stop him standing and watching Byerly sweep the dirt off a log like it's a velvet couch.]

Oh I'm fine, really. But seeing as you've dusted.

[It would be churlish not to sit for a minute. He settles down, delicately, and pats the space beside.]

Careful not to step on any of those magic leaves everyone's been looking for. Don't you think that seems awfully coincidental, by the way?