"You mean, uh, Old Yellerism?" he asks evenly, not pitching his voice too loudly or saying the rabies word. Kids these days still know Old Yeller right? "I'm not too worried, they didn't land so there's no biting." Sky is unaware that there is an airborne form of rabies. Don't tell him.

Whatever's coming off people - mostly off people, the other sources aren't as obvious - is noise, nonsense, he can tell there are patterns of some kind but right now it's just a baffling wash of alien sensation radiating in a block, he can't work it out - oh, there's his heartbeat again.

Sky doesn't freeze up and hallucinate - the memories don't work like that for him - but the suggestions of lines on his face deepen as he's able, for the second time, to remember something that could never have happened. This happened years after the encounter with Guri, he's sure of it, and he'd had a much more encompassing and comprehensive grasp of the world around him, and had known somehow exactly how to interpret and control the mysterious feedback, enough to comfortably advise someone with the same ability.

Of course this is happening again when he can't stop and write it down. Feeling the familiar phantom impression that his missing hand is present Sky rubs his left hand around the point where his prosthetic begins. Somehow in both of these memories he's got an artificial right hand, yes, but it's beautifully advanced, barely distinguishable from flesh. Still. He can start taking his own advice.

Following the group, entirely distracted from his surroundings and any urge to explore, he tries distinguishing and counting the people by sense.