(no subject)

[the_lioness]

The Royal Forest is beautiful. Alanna would know. She's been staring at the trees, the sky, the path, once even the ground turned up by Mithros' hooves, since they left the palace.

It's not that she doesn't like Numair. She does. He's pleasant, and his smile could melt ice off a mountain. She's just not sure she entirely trusts him. And he's so tall.

...it's also possible she's harboring a bit of resentment.

Even so, she can't abide complete silence. That would be more awkward than small talk, which is all they have yet managed around each other today. She straightens in the saddle and aims a forced smile at the man riding beside her.

"Lovely, isn't it."

Sigh.

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[blackrobemage.livejournal.com]

Numair, meanwhile, has been busily focusing on the saddle of his horse as they travelled, feeling every bump and dip in the road along the way. He's far too tall for riding, he thinks; vaguely, he wishes he could just change form to arrive at the destination more quickly and with less pain involved.

But then again, he'll need his reserves. So the horse it is.

"Indeed," he agrees, almost as strained as he returns the smile. But for completely different reasons -- he's genuinely trying to be nice, but the whole riding issue does not make for easy happiness.

...he really should have gotten a different mount.

[the_lioness]

Well, that was a stimulating exchange. Scowling, Alanna leans forward and brushes a leaf from her horse's mane. Why can't she talk to him? Only a fool would miss the opportunity for mutual benefit. Why can't she trust him? No one else seems to share her reticence. (Adam might, but they've never met.) It's becoming annoying.

She turns to stare at Numair, conflicted, and bites her lip hard. A born rider through and through, Alanna gradually becomes aware of his discomfort, and of its source.

"You don't like riding?"

There's shock and genuine curiosity in her voice.