[Kratos submits to the gesture to turn, though it isn't easy to do, and he doesn't even need to play-act to present the air of being downtrodden. There's something humiliating about this, he realises nearly belatedly, now that the danger is gone; but soon enough that he can feel the heat in his cheeks once more.

[His head stays down as he follows Yuan, focussing on moving, on not letting his knees buckle, on breathing. Breathing is a short, sharp thing, punctuated by jabs of pain in his side.

[He doesn't realise Yuan has stopped until he feels his hand on his shoulder, and then can only follow, unaware that the flush has been replaced by an ashen tone and his face is lined with a determined sort of suffering. Right now, Kratos can't peg why they might have stopped; they aren't in an area with vital foodstuffs, so it can't be for groceries. Instead he just looks at Yuan, leaning on his cane, hand pressed to his side, and waiting.]