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Summary
“Come… shall we race?” Hans blurted the first thought that came, striving to turn the awkwardness into play.
He sprang to his feet too quickly, as though fleeing from boredom. Yet he still felt it — the steady, warm gaze following his every step. Shuffling his boots through the dry earth, he reached for the mare, smoothing her mane with his fingers, as though inviting her too into this foolishness.
“How far?” the smith called after him, rising in turn. “Wait, for what cause?”
A smile spread wider across Hans’s face: how easily Henry agreed — whether to nonsense or to peril, as though indeed all that remained to them was simply to walk side by side.