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“Watch your step, if not for your sake, then mine. You’re bound to fall.” Lydia trailed a few paces behind her Thane, carefully stepping around the brush and roots at her feet.
“I’ll manage, I’m sure,” the woman chimed in that sing-song voice of hers. The way she moved through the forest was more akin to dancing than walking. She took long steps, occasionally twirling around to be sure Lydia was close behind. When she wasn’t staring behind her, her gaze was glued to the trees or directly in front of her—never at the ground to be sure she wasn’t about to fall. It was endearing, in a peculiar way.
“Gods, you’re going to make my heart stop.” Her own foot caught on a root and she stumbled forward, catching herself on a tree.
The Dragonborn twirled around again, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Perhaps it’s all that armor you’re wearing. Certainly it must weigh you down, no?” She gestured to her own outfit of a plain white shirt and deep grey pants. “It’s really very convenient.”
“Very convenient until you get impaled or burned.” Lydia steadied herself and carried on walking.
“When I’m not being weighed down by fifty pounds of steel, it’s very easy to avoid being impaled or burned.”
Lydia shook her head. “I’m hardly as agile as you are, my Thane.” Truth be told, the armor could be an incredible annoyance. It was well crafted, her mobility was hardly limited, she simply wasn’t as fast as she would be otherwise. Still, she wasn’t keen on being shot or stabbed or whatever other injury might await her.
“Well, whatever keeps you safe, Dove.” She cracked a smile and turned around on her heel. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”
“Have you? I didn’t know such a feat was possible.”
The woman scoffed and continued, “We’re both very limited in our skill set. I’m hardly good for anything other than destruction magic and all you can seem to do is swing around that sword of yours.” Coming from anyone else, it might have been insulting, but the humor in the woman’s voice brought a smile to Lydia’s face. “We really should work outside of our comfort zones. You can teach me how to use a sword—or I suppose anything other than a dagger—and I can help you with your magic.”
“You think? I may be biased, but I think we do exceedingly well with our respective skills.”
“There’s always room for improvement, you—” With that, she tripped over the underbrush.
Lydia was knelt down by her in an instant, pulling her up. “By the Gods, my heart can only handle so much.”
The woman stood with Lydia, dusting herself off. “Well, your point has certainly made itself clear. But I’m hardly injured, there’s no need to panic.”
“I can’t help it. Being near you puts me in a constant state of unease. Bad luck clings to you.”
The woman pursed her lips and knit her brows together before saying, “If it truly brings you any peace, I suppose I can be more cautious.” She never could maintain a serious nature for long—she quickly grinned and added, “But you mustn't get sappy on me, Dove. It really brings me down.”
Lydia sighed and said, “I can manage that much.”