Natasha lets him pull away when he picks up his pace, frowning a little at his concern. She follows after a little more slowly, picking out the drier, higher patches of ground where her boots don't sink so far into the mud. She manages to make the careful steps look smooth and reasonable rather than dainty.

Dainty isn't the word for her.

"Rain happens," Natasha says philosophically. "We can plan all we want, but no one stops a flood."