"Listen?" The wind gusts forward. He steps back to compensate, glances down to check on the state of the railing. The hand is there, very near his foot. He'd almost stepped on it. The hand is small and quiet, like its owner. If he tried to look further he could see the arm it's attached to. Further, and he could see the face.

"And what then?" Roland sounds annoyed now. He looks annoyed, too - his hand on the butt of his gun is unnecessary, functionally he gains nothing from the move in terms of speed. It is necessary, though, as a message, an animal with its hackles up. Step back. Cry off.

"You wouldn't be the first to listen. Would listening set you off from these senseless questions? Would you listen until even the light and order of this reality crumbled down around us? What are you here for truly, child? If that's what you are? Here to waste my time?"