Will's been wandering alone for long enough that he's stopped being concerned about narrating things out loud. It's not a sign of losing his mind so much as it's a sign that he's clearly missing his dogs, and the ability to speak to them at length without expecting anything said to him in turn. It's light commentary that may or may not sound eerie out of context; 'If this place wants to welcome us, it should learn how to create wedges between us with a little more subtlety', or 'If the shadows aren't all dogs, how long until I'm being hunted down by a deer?', or even 'I'd kill someone for some spinach'. It's been a long several weeks of eating mostly prepackaged jerky, okay.

But any number of things might announce Will's arrival ahead of himself, broadcasted through the constantly-malfunctioning radio hung on one of his belt loops with a bit of twine he'd found in a medicine cabinet several left turns ago. (No medicine was in the cabinet, of course.)

Will's quiet when he finally turns a corner and sees someone else, though. Or he's quiet for the few moments it takes him to notice and be startled enough to hit the wall with an elbow as he takes a hasty step backwards. "Oh," he says helpfully, and then, "I'd started to think it made these mazes individually. One for each of us." It's...difficult to say if he sounds disappointed or relieved to have been wrong. Will's not so sure himself.