It's not warm by any stretch, especially not after a ride like that, wind cutting through her hair like a knife and numbing up her nose. But when she tips her head back, she can feel the gentle warmth of sunlight trying to slice through the umbrage, eyes closed to the mottled shadows thus cast.

There's a ruckus in the air as leaves and boughs and branches and animal and wind and sun commune, and she takes a quiet moment to listen to the conversation, trusting Nova to watch the path and carry her true.

Even if she didn't, she'd trust Doc.