( makoto recoils from guren's reply, sudden and obvious in how he mocks at looking stricken. in truth, he had known it had been a long shot — really, he had just been poking and prodding at the soldiers, trying to see how much leeway they would give before administering a more corporal response (the answer was obviously "very little leeway at all") — but still, he's not entirely unconvinced they should've been given an offer of some sort of assistance up the cliff, given what they had just gone through...

he continues, keeping his voice down so his complaints don't earn him another, sharper case of whiplash (his head is only just attached to this body, after all, and he's pretty sure he won't survive it coming off at this point). )

Even so, we're just about as strong as newborns, and they immediately set us to marching up a cliff?

( he lets it go, sighing, focusing for a moment in putting one foot in front of another. he's not a robust one. the muscles in his legs are already crying out in protest at what he's putting them through, and he huffs and puffs as they climb.

he pauses for a moment at the stranger's suggestion, then he starts to laugh, breathless, his thin shoulders shaking beneath the shapeless, white gown. ) You know what's most likely to happen if I do that, right?

( he pauses in his steps to reach out in front of guren, directing his attention toward the cliff and down, toward the furious river that cut through the canyon far below. )

Are you trying to get me killed? ( despite the words, his tone is honeyed, just as half-humorous as guren's had been. )