Heinrich gave a small bow once he met the woodcutters eyes, and the old man sniffed, his brows furrowing. "Miranda? Who's this stranger?" he asked gruffly, his eyes falling on the horse lying in the ravine.
"He says he's a runaway!" Miranda--that was the woman's name, Heinrich figured--chirped from below.
"Traveler," Heinrich corrected her with a small jerk, nervousness spiking into his heart that needn't be there. The woman blinked, then laughed, realizing her mistake and waved away the old man's worried stare.
"Got a lame horse?" the man asked, one hand gripping the reins of the rather irate-looking mule attached to the cart. "Sir?"
"That--ah, she said... she said her leg was sprained, not broken," Heinrich dithered, not used to being around so many people at once. Two people, to be exact. It was different, and he wasn't fully sure who to look at, thoroughly convinced that he shouldn't be wearing that mask, but it couldn't be helped.