"What?" Having only understand half of it, because of the ringing in his ears, instead of the hopefully dulcet tones of someone who looked like she belonged in Dauntless. But the hand said it all, didn't it? This was help. Or so he hoped. "My ears are ringing," he told her, his voice louder than usual. And his flask, his poor, beaten up flask was still in his hands when she'd offered him her hand, and he stared at it for a moment, before realizing that he had pockets. A little torn up, but it would hold an equally torn up flask.
And then he finally pulled himself up and nodded at her. "I'm Uriah." And then, because he had a nagging feeling in his stomach, he shook his head, sending plaster dust flying out of his hair. "What year is it?" He'd never seen anything so old as the graves in this cemetery and if he had to subtracts those dates with the year he'd come from, he was a long, long way from home.