Russell spent entirely too much of his youth hearing his mother's airy and optimistic notions of fate and destiny, and being annoyed with it, to comfortably go along with a lot of the Numbered nonsense. He goes with it for the most part, sure, but he complains and worries while he's at it.

"Something like that, yeah. And no shorter. If I had to wriggle on my stomach..." He shakes his head. It might be possible, in an emergency, but he's not volunteering for it. Not even if the mice swarm him again. "And I'll borrow a saw, in case the small tunnels don't work."

Maybe not the most responsible distribution of responsibilities. But if it means she won't venture in alone in pursuit of mice, that works.