His nostrils are too full of smoke for him to tell if there's anything gummy in the breeze, anything that might be reminiscent of the sour smell of sickness, or whatever the hell the runoff from Cloud's illness is. Either way, he doesn't feel any better or worse than he did a minute ago, and no breeze wafts anything sickening his way.

"Yeah, should be fine." It's...probably fine, right? Wonderland has ways of mitigating this stuff. Wouldn't want its entire population to turn into a shambling, diseased mess, right? Probably not, no.

"Wonderland'll probably...filter it out if it gets necessary. Or something like that."