[It's no small relief, that things return relatively to normal that night. Yuan has them up early the next morning, and the smith is distant enough they're heading for a rickshaw depot first, not walking the entire way.]

[If asked, Yuan would assert he was fine. But his posture is sword-straight, almost rigid, with little of the ease he bears on the battlefield. He glances over at Kratos every so often, assessing his pace and potential pain, but says nothing.]

[The district of Nidavellir the rickshaw takes them toward is built in stone of warmer tones. Yuan knows the area well, doesn't bother to look around even to see what might have changed. He doesn't care; there were reasons he was never actively planning to come back here.]

[When they alight, he doesn't offer Kratos a hand, but only watches to make sure of his balance.]