She braced her bruised pawpads widely on either side of her before she shifted her hips from her side to propped beneath her. Satisfied with the weight that regained balance once more, the splinted leg obeyed, more or less. A dull throb pulsed through the bones and her teeth, ebbed only by the harsh grinding of her canines.

"Fine, then." Takala's voice steadied. "If I stay here any longer, I'll turn into an oak log,"

A scoff perforated out of her nose — self-mockery more than insult.

The woman's ears flickered, her chin gesturing curtly for him to fulfill his pledge of being used as her balance. Once he met her side, she made a point of not leaning too heavily.

His figure was tall, lean. Warm. Much warmer than the cold, smooth stone she felt against her paws. He steadied her easily enough, absorbing the scant weight she grudgingly surrendered. Her joints begged to lean fully into him, to let her battered bones rest, but her jaw was set, spine stiff. She refused to surrender herself more than she already has.

She’d hop if she must. She'd even crawl if pride required it.

"Onward. I'm eager to see what this 'garden' is,"

Just as long as this surprise wasn't anything like the sheep.

The edges of her lips almost betraying a grin before it flattened into a line.

"And if I spot any more of those beasts," she warned dryly, "you’ll tie me to the damn tree before I make another fool of myself."

A quiet moment passed as she caught his eyes fully now. The truth glimmered there, behind the usual frost: thank you.

But Takala had never been good at saying the words plainly.