( He ponders the concept visibly, not that she can see it — then comes to a pretty clear decision. )

Nah, I don't think so.

( Instead, he'll be a kind, generous gentleman and just grab her by the waist, then hoist her up onto the horse side-saddle style. It's bound to be uncomfortable, she'll likely have to grip the pommel with her bound hands to keep from toppling off the thing, but he fails to see how that's his problem.

He barely leaves her enough time to find her balance before he sets them off again at a brisk walk. )

Alright, here's the deal happy meal. As long as those depressed alcoholic hunters, the angel, and your mutt dad exist on this backwards medieval little rock, they're always gonna be trying to crawl up my ass. Probably literally, in that angel's case. It's a total party killer. I'm not interested in spending the next five hundred years as a head in a box. So, I got to thinking: hmm, if the useless wizards can't send my ass home, what's plan B? And then... I thought about the sad little girl with the sad little nightmare that almost fucked me up.