Guim cannot one hundred percent remember how he ended up lying down in the leaves with a headache. There was the whole thing where the snow disappeared - and then there were a bunch of giant centipedes - eating a horse, he's pretty sure - right, okay, the centipede ate Ferran's horse, and he was getting Ferran out of centipede range, and he must have hit something extremely hard in the process such that he also doesn't have his own horse anymore. Probably it was a fucking tree branch or something. 

The groans to his left indicate that at least he still has Ferran, who is worth more than his disloyal fucking horse. Guim struggles up and surveys the damage. Ferran's right boot can only sort of be said to exist. The foot under it looks badly mangled, presumably by the centipede. Fifty-fifty it needs a regenerate, but Ferran will get a regenerate, so the only concern is -

"Can you walk on it, my lord?"

     Ferran grimaces, struggling pretty hard to even look at his foot. He's pale and shaky. More than usual, for Ferran. "Not quickly."

Guim pulls him up and lets him lean. "We just have to get back to the rest of the hunting party before something else eats us. They'll patch it up, my lord."

It is not at all ambiguous who has command here, but Ferran looks like he's about to vomit and does not seem to have any information about which way the rest of the hunting party is. So. 

"This way?"

     "Sure."