Bryn slows her horse long enough to wait for the grumbling Tiefling.  She didn't hear his grumblings, but her words echo his.  "You should have bought a horse," she says softly, smirking slightly as she regards the artificer.  She extends one gauntleted hand, the fine-etched steel that sheathes her a strange matte color of iron transitioning from silver to ebon shade.  "Come on."  She steps down in the stirrup with a rattle of metal joints and creaking leather, then pats the well-worn saddle.  "I could use a stretch anyway."  She expects that the horse will consider the Tiefling's weight a relief after hers-- despite her compact form and unimpressive height, she was loaded with armor and equipment-- just in case they are successful in finding the merchant caravan's bane.