With as quick and tender steps as one could perform in clunky, unlaced boots, the Scarecrow stepped into Carter's hands and onto his shoulders, wobbling only a little before climbing to the top of the wall. Slick from the snow, the boots slid on the wall before finding a hold. He ended up using his wounded arm unthinkingly as he scrabbled to the top- it reminded him quickly not to put too much pressure on it.

He caught himself before falling over the other side, taking a moment to find a steady spot on the edge. Looking to the land outside of the wall, he turned his eyes to the ground. It only then occurred to him that he'd lost his flashlight somewhere along the way- oh, that was right! He'd dropped it in the hall. He supposed he couldn't blame himself for being distracted. Maybe Scar wouldn't mind if his flashlight was a little used when he got it.

Thankfully, the snow was bright enough to see the ground below him was clear. "All looks good on this side," he called to Carter. "Come on up!"