The fact of his own almost unearthly speed of hand never occurred to Jake Chambers. All he knew was that when he staggered out of the Devar-Toi and back into America, his shirt -- bellied out into a pregnant curve by Oy's weight -- was pulling out of his jeans. The bumbler, who'd never had much luck when it came to passing between the worlds (he'd nearly been squashed by a taxicab the last time), tumbled free. Almost anyone else in the world would have been unable to prevent that fall (and in fact it very likely wouldn't have hurt Oy at all), but Jake wasn't almost anyone. Ka had wanted him so badly that it had even found its way around death to put him at Roland's side. Now his hands shot out with a speed so great that they momentarily blurred away to nothing. When they reappeared, one was curled into the thick shag at the nape of Oy's neck and the other into the shorter fur at the rump end of his long back. Jake set his friend down on the pavement.