Maybe it's all the dark about them, how her eye has labored so hard in the last minutes to pick shadow from night, but he seems very pale above her. Lying there, Fitcher takes account of herself by slow degrees. For a long moment, she has no answer for him.

Then she decides: "Cuts and scrapes, I'll give you. But I don't believe the majority of this is mine, no." That said, she makes no effort to sit up. Instead, Fitcher tips her face so she might give him a thorough once over.

"Good Lord. We'll have to put a sheet down inside the carriage, else the league will press us for the cost of reupholstering."