He glances at the horse. At the tree.

It would, Cullen thinks, be rude to refuse. Or -- if not rude, exactly, it would break this... whatever it is that they've got.

Says, slowly, "If you'll give me a moment -- I'll secure my arms to the saddle, and you can lead the horse and direct me? I'll walk in front."

No matter the whatever-it-is -- he's not going to assume she's extended him that much trust.