[ She seems to have some appreciation for the gift of living, if nothing else. She's in no hurry to throw it away a second time, and he lifts his hunting gaze away from her to again pace before the bars. How long until someone is sent to barter for his release? How long until he is treated at least as the hostage of nobility that he is? He is owed that much. This scrap of a girl belongs down here, a farmer's daughter, more worthless than a crust of bread.

He bristles as these thoughts slither through his head, when there is nothing he can do to keep them quiet, no way to sever them with a sword, as he would actual snakes. He has no sword, and these doubts are too slippery.

She has her hair braided by the time he snaps another glance her way, and he snorts at her pseudo-agreement. Some kind of reconciliation, recognizing themselves as two wayward horses boxed too close, pinning their ears at one another? It only serves to remind him that he is not a mule, and this is not a stable, and not even biting at his supposed stablemates grants him any relief. ]

Only two horses they didn't give a dusty fuck about. [ Two respectable mounts would not be kept so poorly. Why the two of them are being held here together, he cannot fathom. ]

They'll realize who I am, and I'll have new neigh-bors soon enough. Don't get too accustomed to the pleasure of my company.