When Issac's legs buckled, it nearly sent them both into a heap of limbs on the ground. Given no better alternatives, Ric muttered, "Alright. So this is happening," and moved to cradle Issac like a considerably overgrown baby. He counted down from three before lifting his companion, after which he stopped dead at the sounds of his vertebrae creaking in protest. Was he okay? Could he do this?
Yes. No. Maybe? Yes. Yes!
It took a few steps forward to acclimate to the added weight, but he seemed to be okay for now. Come morning; soreness was likely to find him and send him hobbling toward the apothecary. For now, he started off toward the nearest shady tent, devoid of merchandise but still set up with a few chairs and a table that could be utilized as a makeshift bed, albeit an uncomfortable one. "I'm entirely too old for this," Ric narrated his thoughts under the impression there was no sense keeping them to himself when Issac would still be able to pick up on his every complaint. On a lighter note, he added, "Mother always used to say, son, one day you'll carry someone across the threshold, and it will be the happiest day of your young life. Safe bets are this wasn't exactly what she had in mind."