There's something particularly humiliating about being carried like a disobedient cat.
Maybe it's the fact you're a grown adult, and so is the disgruntled man holding you.
Linden drops you into a wooden chair, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at you. He hasn't tied you up. He doesn't need to.
He can't help feeling pity as you shrink into your chair, looking much smaller than before.
How have you survived the harsh winters of Northern Astaria all this time? Compared to Linden, you look like a breeze could carry you away.
He snaps out of his thoughts when you uncomfortably shift under his gaze.
"Look here. It's hard surviving in the mountains as it is without a thief digging through my supplies. Once or twice I can understand, but all the damn time? Don't you have a place of your own?"