"It can't be far," Carla Jean says with a shrug, a noncommittal sort of agreement. Better that than walking around in the dark without a clue as to where they were going, even if they were bound to have wound up somewhere familiar sooner or later. "Or we could find a carriage to wave down. It'd probably take us right there." If he finds his way, her presence probably won't be necessary, but she's too involved to walk away now. It makes her feel good, anyway, to be something like useful, and it's genuine concern she feels, not as inclined to shrug off his injuries as he apparently is.