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The morning had approached from evening all too quickly, Eostre finding that things took off easily. She had been silent through repacking, through what little breakfast there was; through leaving the camp and bringing their horses into somewhat of a line.
And, as usual, she let herself slip closer to the end of the line. She was little use as a scout, and the foul mood which had seemingly beset didn't do anything for her. It seemed as if everyone loved the most naive members of the parties, disliking the idea of contact with any of the ones more world-wise. If there were any, that was to say.
Who didn't love Fion, after all? And now that he was injured...
She sighed, her horse at a steady canter as well as the rest of the party, silencing the thoughts that wanted her to say why shouldn't they love him? He's nicer than you are. Same with Meghan. They're all nice and friendly and caring. You're just scary, firm and silent. A chronic stoic who scares the meek and humbles the high.
The river slicing its way through limestone was more friendly than those around her, she thought.
It was more friendly than she.
Why do you think no one likes you? Because you're ugly? No, it's because you're a mean-spirited, cynical, agnostic...
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