With some aching in his joints, the knight pulled himself up with muffled grunts, rousing his muscles from the torpor of an interrupted sleep. He was glad to have sat near the front, so that his dusty, armored, unclean self wouldn't have had to fall onto anyone.

He stepped outside the wagon, landing heavily, and cringed at the horse's dislocated limbs. He struggled to walk in this deep mud, and moved to the edge of the grass, where at least some roots would've held the ground together underneath him. A regular man would've carried a lighter load over swampy earth, but hell if Robart would deaden morale any further by showing his face. He probably wasn't contagious. Probably. But no one wants to travel with a leper, for completely obvious reasons.

"Two enough to hoist up that beast? I'll lend you a hand if I don't get in the way."