When Croix approached, Sefton shifted to lace his hands behind his back, his usual stance that kept people from trying to get closer a little more effectively than some others he had tried. He gave a headtilt in Devon’s direction and obliged by saying, “On his head. He fell on his head.” There was no teasing tone in it, simply the facts mixed with the natural concern for his friend. “S’ there a doctor ‘round here or something?”