A fighter. That had been clear the moment he had seen her. The blisters on her hands had only further proved it. He keeps his hold light, never wanting to constraint her or make her feel as if she had to stay. All he was there for was to provide a guiding hand should she want it.

"Very rarely," he admits and starts leading the way. Not that he sounds bothered. He was used to carrying the weight of many on his shoulders. "But the aroma of the gardens helps when little else does."