It's a struggle, crossing the first village. She almost gets him at the first bridge, feet catching in planks and his energy flagging. What kind of luck keeps someone from crossing their path and questioning him, he isn't sure--he could use the help, once explanations were settled.

She could use the help. He's just tired and a little bruised, the kind of sore spots he might get walking through a whip of young branches.

On the second bridge, she's quiet, almost walking on her own. He expects a lull, some false stop and a break for it--but when he turns she looks--different. Worn out, but present enough. Upset in a way that isn't about the water. "What," he asks, not quite catching the words. Turning cuts some of the slack on the rope, but he puts a second hand over hers, ducking a bit to look her in the eye. "You with me here, kid?"