He breathes a tiny sigh of relief, shoulders slumping a fraction, the moment Emet-Selch clarifies that there's no need to describe his memory out loud; he would have simply turned heel and left, if that were required. Then after a moment, he nods and hauls himself to his feet. The bottle clinks softly when he leaves it behind on the bench so he can slink forward, the slender whip of his tail following the momentum of his gait.

Even once he stands before the edge of the pool he seems tense, brow furrowed as he thinks in silence for a moment. Then he glances over to meet Emet-Selch's gaze to signal without words: 'I'm starting.'

He closes his eyes as he focuses, but that tension remains in the square of his shoulders and the uneasy curl of his tail against his leg.