Having died twice already, Kit is hoping the third time's a charm.

"Yeah," he starts, "good idea," and looks down to the white, fluffy head that is currently burrowed against his chest to avoid getting more rain into its downy fur. Kit tucks his coat more snugly around the small creature, mindful of its injured wings and paws, and motions with one hand in the general direction of the Bridge... which hopefully isn't too far away. "Are you in Breakwater or Quayside? Or do you have your own digs already?"