You worry too much. Onua ruffled the girl's hair. It'll work out. Their concern and Onua's gave her comfort. I'll manage, she told herself as the ferry bumped the landing dock on the Tortallan shore.
Silence is best.
The country beyond the crossing was a mixture of hills and wide valleys, some of it farmed and grazed, but most left to the woods. Towns here were back from the road, and traffic this early in the spring was thin. There was little to keep them from their usual routine of camp and march, riding the ponies, hunting for game birds or fish for their supper. The third day from the river brought rain, slowing them and the animals down before the sky cleared at day's end. Both women were up late, getting mud out of shaggy coats and off their own skins and clothes.