[ Of course her answer is simple. And of course she wouldn't take the out he'd built into his question. Really, he should know this about her by now, that she was willing to be there for every painful step he took as he peeled his armor off and re-learned how to walk without it. There wouldn't be the horrible pity in her eyes as he shook the rust off of metaphorical joints he hasn't used in years.

Still, he supposes it's habit, to put up something like a defense, just in case the other person decided to take the knife he'd given them and stab it into his soft underbelly.

It's with immense gratitude he reaches over to cup his hand over hers, though, giving her fingers a thankful squeeze. ]

By the time we're done with the hens, should be bright enough out to take the path to the lake. [ Start the furthest out and work their way back in, he thinks, is the better option. Because as they began their trip towards the house again, the memories would be less cheerful in ways. Or rather, heavily burdened by the grief that washed out the happier times more often than not. ]

I can show you the tree Jordie climbed on a dare and broke his arm. [ Despite the injury, it is a funny memory, something that has him smiling lightly as he sips his coffee. ]