What his mind doesn't remember, his body does, and there's something undeniably familiar about having her so close to him. He doesn't feel comfortable with anyone being close to him, he knows that - but with her, he does.

"Why're your eyes so big?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. That's one of those fragments of memory, too. "You look like a deer. A deer with a round face." He can't think of anything clever to say with her so close, so he takes a step back, then another, and then he's falling backwards over a rock and into the stream, his guitar sliding forward with the momentum and banging into his chest.

"Clara?" he calls out from his position, partially in the water and also on top of several mossy damp rocks. "Would you mind giving me a hand?"