#anri and gwayne tbt

[swordluck]

⚘  @kastaegros // cont.

Striped with sheep paths, boiling with rabbit warrens, the crownlands were treacherous underfoot. Even the road churned with mud – caking her boots, clinging thickly to her horse’s feathered legs. Its spreading damp climbed her skirts, high enough to chill her thighs.

Emerging from the shadow of her dapple-coated palfrey, Anri drew back her cloak’s hood to make her greeting, relief washing over her features. She possessed the pinched, sleep-hungry look of one too long left to dream under stars, of one who was lost – as had rightly been supposed.

The man who had chanced upon her was framed by storm-grey skies, bordered by clouds fat with rain. Knightly in appearance and speech, he could have walked from the pages of a folktale. Anri could only hope and trust he was as gentlemanly as he seemed at the first impression.

“I fear I have lost my bearings,” she admitted with a small, translucent smile. As she spoke, her horse tossed its broad head, its forelock damp-dark and clinging. Anri was quick to smooth a hand over the silvery pillar of its neck, to stroke beneath the warm, coarse curtain of its mane. “I should be grateful for your escort to the city. If it is no trouble to you, good sir. Are bound in that same direction?”