It isn't hard to imagine the Balladeer provoking them. But it isn't hard to imagine the sort of violence they'd inflict on him, either, now that she's seen both of those things firsthand. And there's really no question of who'd have the advantage if it came to a physical confrontation between a group of armed, unstable murderers and a--a bard.

He doesn't look fine. Well, how could he be?

Greta hesitates, then sits back down beside him. She doesn't want to pry, and she doesn't know how to comfort him, but she does want to offer something. After a few moments' thoughtful contemplation of the river's surface, she finds herself saying, in a ludicrously light, conversational tone: "I fell, right before the Rift got me. The giant was there, and I…" she trails off into a quiet, humorless laugh. Regroups. "Clumsy of me. But at least the Rift timed things well for both of us."