He is exhausted, but able to stagger onward through the power of a second (okay, third or so) wind and reluctance to end the conversation, so he just smiles, shrugs, and says, “I believe there’s one every few carriages, it won’t delay us much to miss one or two.”

Continuing on, he thinks for a bit on something that might prolong the conversation.

“During the mission, I don’t think I saw you as much after I left the inn.” After the ninth of Quicksand he’d stayed out on the road, either camping out or sleeping in barns and stables that obliging farmers let him use, so he’d only spent two nights at the inn. “Did you ever get many chances to leave?”