The trek back is miserable, Guts shivering with his prize in the rain until they bump into the cart with a proper roof and blankets. His treatment is less gentle, though the fact that he could still mount and dismount Safflower (if with some significant difficulty) gave them leeway to assume he was mostly fine.

He winces on his way down from the saddle, guided to the cart by a lone girl staring at the massive bear paw in his hands. The plate armor is removed much quicker than it's mounted to his body, eager as he was to untie all the leather strings and straps. The blood is somewhat cleaned off his skin by the rain, though it remains staining Lashan's shirt. He takes this off, too - both to see the damage and to remove another sopping wet layer off his body. He only needed a glimpse of the ugly purple blotching on his chest to know he was going to be deeply sore for another few days at least.

Guts occupies the corner opposite to Lashan and the others around her, blanket wrapped tight, sipping the warm milk wordlessly. He seemed content to keep the company of his armor, the sheathed sword, and all the unused arrows sitting in their quiver. Still, the gray in her face was worrying.

“How’s the old lady? Didn’t keel over yet, right?” the question is tossed into the air, earning him a dirty look. Cold could easily do in someone her age, he knew.

Luckily, it seemed like she was getting some color back into her cheeks, from what he could glimpse between all the other Sisters.