Roland's hand does tighten on the grip of his gun, twitches in an aborted slide down to grip it and pull it out- but no. No. The threat being prepared here is anything but, the hand preparing it is a child's hand, and Roland breathes out slow, and slides his hand down and off his weapon altogether. That hand, without prompting, curls immediately up into a fist. That, at least, there's no point in fighting. He lets his fist curl tight enough that his nails, even short as they are, might bite into his skin were that skin not so rough and calloused. The child's asking a question. Focus on that.

"What-"

Oh. Yes.

"Cry pardon. Should have mentioned. Sensible to fear the darkness, but here's nothing for you to worry over. It's no monster. I think once I leave this cave it'll-"

He shudders.

"-go from here, anyway. Then we can finish. You and I. Once he-"

"-once this is done I'll be able to move on to where it is I need to go. So will you. Dangerous for a boy on his own, if that's what you are. Or maybe-"

"-safer, after all. Depends, I guess, on where you're headed. Never did tell me. You're not here because you're meant to be. There was only one here, that time." It's not an outright question, just what it is the child's here for, but neither is Roland trying to hide his suspicion. After all, he knows it: this talk, this postponing of the inevitable, that is not how this was meant to be. The inevitable, after all, is called that for a reason. Silly, isn't it, to want to keep it waiting.