For having such small pockets, Daniel seems to be taking awhile actually going through them, the Doctor fidgeting a little and looking around the forest as he waits. Waiting: not one of his strong points. 900 odd years and waiting's just harder than it was when he was centuries younger. He's had his fill of waiting. The Doctor is trying to pick out a bird of some kind chirping away above them with blood-curdling shrieks when Daniel starts to ramble.

"You guess they're interesting," The Doctor repeats. Now isn't the time or place to say that really, Daniel Jackson, chances were he was there himself during the 17th century.

Taking the compass, the Doctor holds it and watches it spin uncertainly. The magnetic field plays havoc with it, rendering the compass useless. Not the first time he's had to rely on his own sense of direction. The Doctor starts to absently pocket the compass as he turns on the spot, shading his eyes and peering up at the trees.

"What we have is right up there," the Doctor stabs a finger up at the sky. Well, tree. Or several, if Daniel wants to be picky. "Halgonic tree shelter. Provided there aren't giant tree snakes up there, we should be fine for the night."

That eraser might come in handy later, he suspects. And he wouldn't mind a look at the book, but he supposes shelter's more important right now.