There isn't a whole lot Strange can do to make this right. They've both been dragged out to sea by John Uskglass and his prophecy, it seems. Though it's on that note that Childermass breathes out a sigh and slumps again, this time back against the bench.

"It's fine," he says, sounding very much like it is absolutely not fine. "You can't fix everything, Strange. It isn't even a problem of your own making." For once, shocking as that is to all. "Assuming I'm not eaten by Wyld fae, who knows. Could be I live long enough to ask him myself one day... or punch him. Perhaps both."