Already Cade feels it in the pit of his stomach, a gnawing worry that there will be confrontation, in which he will either prove completely ineffective or excessively violent. His leg is essentially healed, perhaps a bit tender where the chunk of red lyrium once was, but his mind immediately goes to it, inviting that creeping paranoia: what if they didn't get it all out? What if he loses his head and kills someone he isn't supposed to?
Worse yet, what if he simply makes an ass of himself in front of the locals? What if he offers assistance and is shouted away and insulted?

Lady Patience irritably tugs on the reins, asking for her head, which is being held back in a tight, white-knuckled death grip. Cade grants it with a whispered apology, but watches the surrounding area like a hawk as they ride, waiting for aggression seen or unseen.