"Can you even walk?" I asked, my voice sharp with haste, my eyes darting back over my shoulder to the distant, marching column of Guards already shrinking against the snow.
"Yeah... I mean, I don't know for sure... My left thigh was run through with something, right immediately after some motherfucker rendered me fuckin' blind..." he trailed off, his voice a low sigh of contempt, as if the memory itself was a physical weight he was forced to carry.
That's his burden to bear.
Still, he was using way too many damn words for what should be a simple yes or no answer.
"...Yes or No," I cut him short, my tone an exact mirror of how I felt inside – like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap.
"...I... I think so. I felt..." he was about to start his yapping again.
"Alright… alright… Just get on my back, then," I cut him off once more, squatting down again.
This time, my back was to his face. I quickly repositioned my own pack to my chest, a necessary adjustment.
