[His are the hands of someone who has worked hard to get where he is--she recognizes it immediately, in the way that like recognizes like. But, of course, her hands are gloves; she can feel the roughness of his hands through the fine velvet, but she's not sure he can feel the same.

It's fine.

She tows him along at a gentle pace, so that he has the chance to catch his bearings, and keeps her eyes peeled.

And, cheerfully, as they walk:]

I suppose the bridge must have some sort of tactical value, for there to be a creature charging a toll to cross it. Right? Perhaps it is the only crossing point for many miles?