“Comme vous voulez,” Jacques replied, gently depositing the bundle of powerless changeling into the makeshift sled. She was surprised at the presence of soft fabrics haphazardly torn from wherever the pony had found them and placed at the bottom of the broken box. It wasn’t comfortable per se, but it was better than sitting on hard wood with a broken leg. The box was big enough to allow her to lie down, but not so big she could give her legs the room they needed. It was awkward. “Now just sit there and don’t move around too much. Wouldn’t want to hurt yourself further, oui?”