"Nay," he says, looking at her hard, "such a sacrifice is bravely given."
He steps up and settles lightly into the saddle as Sorely moves beneath him. Marian was right--though the horse was powerful, he was well-trained. Caspian could feel him mouthing at the bit, and when he jerked in surprise at Marian's words, the horse moved with him, its ear flicking back.
"The Lionheart?"
It's...he remembers being thirteen, and tucked into the deep corners of Trufflehunter's home. He can still smell the loam and the moss, can still taste the wine they drank as they toasted in low voices to the Horn, to King Caspian, to the return of the Lion.
And there's something else, as well; some strange hesitancy in Marian's voice, in the way she does not look at him. he does not wish to pry, and yet it intrigues him.
no subject
He steps up and settles lightly into the saddle as Sorely moves beneath him. Marian was right--though the horse was powerful, he was well-trained. Caspian could feel him mouthing at the bit, and when he jerked in surprise at Marian's words, the horse moved with him, its ear flicking back.
"The Lionheart?"
It's...he remembers being thirteen, and tucked into the deep corners of Trufflehunter's home. He can still smell the loam and the moss, can still taste the wine they drank as they toasted in low voices to the Horn, to King Caspian, to the return of the Lion.
And there's something else, as well; some strange hesitancy in Marian's voice, in the way she does not look at him. he does not wish to pry, and yet it intrigues him.