ashywashymachine
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Summary
“Sometimes I wish I were a horse.” Mary Beth says, dropping to sit beside Tilly and Karen as she takes up some mending.
“What? Why?” Tilly stares over at her like she’s grown a second head.
“I can guess.” Karen smirks, glances to the other side of camp where their horses are tethered. Arthur’s there, patiently brushing and plaiting the mane of his newest mount, a tall dappled grey thoroughbred. She drops her voice into an imitation of masculinity. “Who’s my good girl? Ain’t you the prettiest lady ever?”
Mary Beth flushes and buries her head in her hands.