Once the thread enters Wanderer's pool, they take hold of it as well, gently directing it through their Air mana. It colours to match, and rapidly gathers a large amount of Wanderer's mana as well, the threads wrapping around it to make a thick rope of power. Then, they direct it towards the city.
Before this he could get something of a sense of the movement of air in the city, now he can feel even more. The slight waving of the plants, the sound of the splashing fountains, the light breeze stirred by the falling water in the bathhouses, the breathing of the sleeping monsters in the vaults below. He can hear the every slight shift he makes, as well, and how that effects his robes, the sound of his hand sliding just slightly on the Spear, every barely audible sound magnified.
"Those sounds are more obvious right now than they used to be," Wanderer tells him after a moment, "Usually they would be drowned out by all the other sounds from all the people. It's very quiet, though."
(Their loneliness rises to the surface for a moment, a yawning pit beneath their bright delight at his existence.)