Not that he could fell it, but judging from the way he staggered with every few steps, his legs hadn't healed completely. It was likely he was setting himself up to trip and collapse again, unable to move, but he knew he couldn't stay any longer. He tried to make his steps as steady as possible, but with no percerption of how much weight he was applying, he was at a loss to gauge if he was accomplishing much, and in the back of his mind simply waited for the tell-tale crack of bones re-fracturing, and plummet into the grass.

At the fence, their loyal dog waited, near silent--a whine here and there when he almost lost his footing--staring at his slow crossing. Staring, as if telling him what he already knew, that he shouldn't be attempting to leave, that his humans would take care of him, and make sure he healed properly. 'Don't go yet, you shouldn't be up, go back and rest some more.' The acute perceptiveness of animals was something he never took for granted, but though the dog's insight may have been completely accurate, he couldn't linger at this home with innocents.

"...Tell them thank you. For this." In acknowledgement, he rested a hand on the loyal sentinel's head when he at last reached the fence, rubbing for a moment, with a light scratch behind the ears, before continuing his steady trek.

The dog watched his retreating form, the last sight of him disappearing into the thick forest.