To ride is, at least, an easy thing. For all her weariness and her still-aching scars, riding is an easy thing, one that come to her as easy as breathing after a lifetime in the saddle, and it is a thing, too, that has always eased her mind. This is where she belongs, whatever else may be in question: on the back of a horse of Mearas-blood, with her back straight and her head held high, and the breeze plucking at her hair. It is not entirely enough to cool the warmth in her cheeks, but it is something. After a moment, when she is sure that she has schooled her expression again, she looks back at her companion.
"It is hard to take rejection with grace." This, like a great deal that passed between them the night before, is something that she ought not to say aloud; but it is also something that, for whatever reason, she does trust he will not spread mockery of too widely. "For any creature, and most of all for one with the pride of Men."
Prideful as she is, graceless as she has sometimes been, she should know. And it is a kind of apology, too - an apology for a conversation they have not been having, and gracelessness more thought than acted upon.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2022-04-10 09:14 pm (UTC)"It is hard to take rejection with grace." This, like a great deal that passed between them the night before, is something that she ought not to say aloud; but it is also something that, for whatever reason, she does trust he will not spread mockery of too widely. "For any creature, and most of all for one with the pride of Men."
Prideful as she is, graceless as she has sometimes been, she should know. And it is a kind of apology, too - an apology for a conversation they have not been having, and gracelessness more thought than acted upon.