[A horse would have crushed you by now, if you tried to hold him this way. If she had a little more breath, she might snap it at him; as it is, it hardly seems worth the effort. As he falls to his knees, her feet finally find purchase again, sandals slipping as she fumbles to get some kind of footing, not caring whether it's on the ground or on his legs. Something to steady herself, either way, not that it does anything to help with the more pressing (ha!) problem of his grip.]

[This is, patently, a ridiculous situation. She's going to get her ribs broken, if they aren't already; spots are dancing and bursting in front of her eyes, and each inward-drawn breath is harder than the last, straining against the press of his arms. He's stronger than she is, and better-trained by far, and if she's about to die for a second time today, then gods, what a stupid fucking way to go.]

[One of them has to give way. She has a horrible feeling - a feeling which she's fighting against with every ounce of her being - that once again, it might have to be her.]

[Grimacing, she gives it one last shot.]

If you let go, it ain't like I can... [She has to pause there for a moment. Talking is getting to be really hard.] ...can go anywhere without letting go of 'ee too. And then ye can catch me again in a moment. You got nothing to lose.

[Another long, wheezing pause.]

If I let go, and ye don't, I'm no better off. So it has to be 'ee.

[Reasoning with him is a pretty last-ditch effort. He doesn't seem a reasonable kind of man. But the alternative is letting go and trusting herself to ka and his goodwill, and Susan's never been much of a one for that kind of trust.]