She doesn't need to follow him.
She absolutely, unequivocally, in no way, needs to keep near the masked warrior's side for any reason. None that she can convince herself matters, anyway.
She could have left the moment they stepped foot in these new lands. Could have left him to his own devices. Could have turned the other direction, offered a haphazard "goodbye" (maybe not even that), and been on her way to wherever else. Anywhere to get rid of the memories he invokes with his mere presence. Anywhere else to get rid of the feelings he invokes.
Disgusting.
Despite everything - he was a safe place. Despite everything - she relied on him. Despite everything - and she still tries to fight it.
Absolutely repulsive.
And yet, when she's left in these quiet moments to herself, following his prints, taking all the time in the world as she stares daggers, burning concentration into the indents in the ground linking his path from one step to another, she feels humble. Quiet. Gentle. A reflective silence that settles among her thoughts and makes its way into the drumming of her heart. Her chest feels heavy, but lighter somehow, too. Like another part of her was trying to ease her into an understanding she didn't want to face; a truth she never wanted to breathe and make real.
She's glad Vidaar lost his sight, selfishly, if only for the fact he wouldn't be able to detect the subtle changes when they arise; the wavering in her eyes that she fears is too clear for all to see at times - because these things made her feel weak; and raised in a world where the strong survived, persevered, and won - weakness was something someone could never be. Not for a moment. Not for a single instant.
She has to constantly remind herself she's not in Edana any longer.
When she finally comes into view of him, having scaled the wall and rounded a corner, she wills herself to furrow her brows, square her shoulders, raise her head a little higher. Even her steps, take even breaths. Everything to make sure she gave nothing away as she approached him.
There's part of her that's uncertain to destroy the silence constructed around him as she comes to stand at his side, the side exposed to the rest of the world and not the wall (she can't stand to feel caged in in any capacity), but eventually she lets the idea flow.
She squares her jaw. Takes a breath in.
"Any orders today."
They're brusque tones of a question that bears more semblance to a rough statement or demand, succinct yet brutal - like the desert that surrounds them, like the heat that beats down on them, on the city, and just minimal enough in delivery that it might also resemble a wall, in some way. Gods knew she was probably related to one.
On top of being in a completely different land, and having her previous one literally crumbled and torn apart beneath her feet, Legiana had played her part as a superior officer for years: now she had to remember her new place as a head among the masses. A soldier - one of many. She was used to commanding at this point, not being commanded. Something she bitterly had to remind herself of, too. Something she had to quite often keep in mind. This wasn't Edana. You're no longer a commander. There is no war. And, most infuriating of all: you're right back to square one.
A slow breath is taken in, and she waits for his answer or acknowledgement - or anything, if anything comes.
