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Glancing over at the woman riding beside her, Eostre couldn't help the doubtful look that lingered over her face. Though perhaps not so much doubtful as distrustful—everyone wanted to talk, to blather, to break her out of a shell everyone presumed she wore.
"Cold morning, isn't it?"
She snorted slightly. "Of course it's cold. You wouldn't expect it to be a warm day, would you?" came the reply from the woman, as she pulled her horse to the same pace as Athwen out of habit. Even if she didn't want to talk, there was such thing as respect. She wasn't going to shove it up someone's face, scream I don't care about the weather! Let them take a hint themselves, if they wanted...
Their paces now matched, the two horses carried along comfortably beside each other. The question had been a rhetoric; Eostre carried on without missing a beat. "What do you want?"
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