He limps after her, clearly a little more tired than he imagined. Soon, they reach a small stream, cutting through the woods, a softly burbling stream that looks clean and pure, though fairly shallow. The water is icy cold, having run down from the nearby mountains, and smells of the fresh mountain air. Malken follows, reaching it a moment after her, looking a little disappointed; it's really almost too small for him to fit in, comfortably.