"Maybe there's a river to follow or something."

Nod. 

Is there?

Eventually, yes.

Shasali frowns at the water.

"Hmmm?"

"I'm thirsty, sir," she murmurs.

"Is it even safe to drink from rivers?"

"I don't know, but if it takes long enough to find civilization it will be safer than not. Especially for the baby."

"Could boil it but that requires some other things I don't know how to do."

He shrugs his jacket off, dips a sleeve in the water, gives wet sleeve to the baby to suck on. "I can do that for you too and sidestep the concern of offending the locals by polluting their whole water supply but I don't actually have very many articles of clothing and they're not really of fabrics that hold a lot of water and it'd only work once per."

Baby sucks on sleeve, after some fumbling.

"I'm looking for a big leaf or something but I don't see anything," she murmurs.

"Water goes through all kinds of purification anyway, it's probably fine."

She looks at him for a bit, then approaches the river and cups her hands and drinks.

He will do the same thing upstream of her.

And they can follow the water.

Eventually forest gives way to farmland.

Amentans are very relieved. 

Shasali gives the crops a berth.

There's a farmhouse in the distance.

He pauses when they get closer. "Maybe you should take the baby in case abandoned babies aren't - supposed to be brought back - and I can go in and get food and try to figure out enough of the language to - finesse things."

She holds out her arms mutely.

Baby. He does not touch her while transferring baby.

Of course not.

She cradles the baby close and hums to her and sways.

He watches for a second and then sighs and turns around and heads farmhouse-wards.

It's a weirdly low-tech farmhouse. There's a cat sitting on a water barrel. Crumbling mortar. Wood shingles. A chimney.

Maybe they are in the past after all and some society since forgotten by history abandoned their babies to starve once spring ended?

He goes up to the door and waits for a bit before knocking.

Nobody notices him before he knocks. When he does, a woman with brown hair answers the door. She's a little tan but not as much as one would expect from a farmer.

"Hi," he says, presuming this to be totally noncommunicative. "We are very lost, where are we?"

It is in fact totally noncommunicative. She looks at his hair and seems confused and replies in a different language.