[When she puts the helm back on, his taut, commanding posture relaxes, and he sighs and nods and slows his pace. At least she won't die here, under his care, or suffer needlessly.
It makes him less determined to bodily haul her to the lighthouse, even though it's still at least a mile away. Far closer to two, he thinks, but it's hard to say by sight.
Then, suddenly, she's leaning on him, sinking to her knees. He catches her up, trying to hold her on her feet.]
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It makes him less determined to bodily haul her to the lighthouse, even though it's still at least a mile away. Far closer to two, he thinks, but it's hard to say by sight.
Then, suddenly, she's leaning on him, sinking to her knees. He catches her up, trying to hold her on her feet.]
It's all right. You're all right.