The thought to run did brush his mind. Flee into the woods while they were distracted. Sell off the horse and sword the next town over to get himself another large slab-like blade with a squat crossguard. Find the barker looking for bodies and blades for the next war between lords. Continue onward with his life.

There was a problem with the plan. He'd done enough horse-riding to know forcing the animal into the thick of a dense forest would be a good way to break its legs or scratch out its eyes. Then he'd be out of a horse to sell. Then he'd be stuck with the longsword, short on money to feed himself and make a new weapon. He would have to make do.

Not that it was a bad weapon, but he had a rather strong attachment to his lump of metal. And maybe he rather liked the food they were giving him on top of that. It was richer than the salty dried meats and nuts and fruit. So the thought is dismissed with the enticement of a good dinner after all this. He gives Safflower a few little pats to the neck. She seemed to have snorted in response to his devilish thoughts.

"Should we bring it with us?" he asks, bringing the mare to an easy stop next to it. He wasn't about to ask a rickety elder to go get it, so he offers. He's done more outlandish things than swoop down on a horse's saddle.