[His arms are starting to tire, but it's been long enough -- gods, nearly a year -- since he lost the leg that he can still automatically catch himself on the railing when she lets him go, sinking back against it with a sigh, holding himself up on his elbows. He shifts his weight to one arm and wipes his face on his sleeve.]
That might be easier said than done. [No, he's never given up on doing anything before because of it, and he's not going to start now. He shakes his head and straightens up.] You should go back. I'll get down on my own. [Eventually.]
spam!
That might be easier said than done. [No, he's never given up on doing anything before because of it, and he's not going to start now. He shakes his head and straightens up.] You should go back. I'll get down on my own. [Eventually.]