“Shorttail,” he commanded, the bird looking up at him. “Don’t use the bridge until I cross,” Handy warned, not trusting the bridge to support both their weight at once. He fumbled under his cloak and detached his hammer and his travel pack. He swung them across the bridge to the other side, one at a time, lessening the amount of weight he could easily part with. He struggled to take the shield off from where it was strapped to his back, a difficult thing to do with his cloak on, but he managed it, tossing it along with his helmet across. He came to the bridge and put the majority of his weight on the right side, which looked much more structurally sound.