Quest and graces — thrill lurched in his chest, twisting the heart in a way that was both pleasant and unnerving. He huffed out a breath through his nose, half a laugh, head tossing with feigned daring and pride.

“ Maybe! But my curiosity reigns over my worry. “ He shouted to the wind, blind to all the sights that rowed on past and were left behind bends in the road. More were yet ahead, but none so brilliant as what stray amidst them, speeding away.

“ A magician braves the Shroud just as a sailor does the Seas, those forces of nature that are as terrifying as they are beautiful. And become more so, the greater our knowledge of them. “

Danger calls. He gave Svala another nudge, weight shifting on the saddle. Rode on without the guarantee he’d stay on his horse.

“ We learn to do things while scared! “
 
A laugh cascades over her shoulder. The whole of her set to sure motion.

The warm thunder of hooves tearing through damp earth. The smell of dead leaves, mixed with the spray of mud, and each breath so laden with crisp clean mist. Legs worked the horse beneath her. Its warmth, bleeding up her bones. Musk, and the scent of hay tickling her nose.

"Do I scare you, Aarno?!" she called back over her shoulder. Eyes full on that mess of a man and his wild eyes of dusk fire, and silver mane billowing to shambles against the wind.

All the world set to motion. Blurring by. The pound of clops beating sure against the land as horse and rider rounded the bend. Wild Captain ducking neath reaching branch, with the nary a twig snagged in her hair.
 
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He was too old for this, surely. Frivolity, wind in his hair. And yet—

“ Yes, Helena! You do. ” He answered, honesty in his eyes and the twist of a grin in his mouth, baring the sliver of sharp teeth. Baited breath catching in his throat as lungs pulled in huffs of the fast passing air.

“ Part of it is definitely the velocity at which you’re traveling, currently, but— ” He paused to swallow and ground his lips together, tongue working a long wisp of hair out of his mouth. He was going to let go of the reins over his own dead body. Probably.

“ Not a significant part, definitely less than half. Would you like to know more!? ”
 
A confession thrown out to the wind. Bright as it was deep. As if water poured from a basin, that only just so much to let the clear drink sparkle with the catch of light, as all the other body stirred and tried to settle.

An invitation.

Cast out over the trot and tear of their horses hooves. Her legs slowed their work of squeeze drive against Roci's sides. Heels dug deep, weight eased back. Her stead headed the soundless command near as natural as her own legs.

Hoofbeats slowed. The jostle neath her with it, as the path ahead of them veered off. Clear away from the hills, where the wilderness thickened, and grew dense. Lead to a small town named Astenill, which liked to boast its blackberry mead was far better than any of the witch touched meads one could find in Astenvale.

Helena was inclined to agree.

Though she kept such opinions secret behind her smile, as Roci slowed to canter, trot, and walk. Tail swishing. Nostrils wide as he huffed his breath and made happy sound. Glad for the run. And all the wind that had coursed across its mane.

"I would," Helena said small and glad.

Though the words could easily be lost in a storm of hooves. Missed betwixt the rustle of branches and leaves. Only there to keen ears, at right proximity.

Lucky then, for any fool who might be clumsy enough to fly past, or off, or just a breath too far. That her warm smile spoke invitation. Even as she guided her steed on toward the hills, and off the beaten path.
 
Svala picked up on the slowing pace ahead before he did, its mouth working the bit and head arching, ears twisted back. He didn’t have to urge it to do anything, just shifted posture back from where he’d been hovering on instinct and muttered his easy affirmations as the gallop ground down. It kept a trot from there, catching up as he gave their surroundings a once over, like he meant to pick out a threat from betwixt the trees. A reason for the Captain’s stolen thunder.

There was none that he could see. And had she said something, just now? Beneath the hooves and the woodland hum he’d caught but a whisper, maybe a breath or a word none was supposed to hear. He’d uttered plenty of those himself.

That smile of hers, though — the curl of it dappled by sun come down through old canopy and it’s young leaves. Would he dare play oblivious against that, what with the things he’d just said? Suppose he should’ve been flattered for the effect, the implied curiousity. It was hard to not smile wide at it’s face, but he managed just about. A wisp of satisfied amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“ You’ve a host of confidence. Daring too. “ He begun belatedly, starting from the heart of it. No reason to delay.

“ Effortless sort of— reaching out. Emotionally, physically— “ With the hands that are not afraid to touch, to offer and to ask. Or were they accidents?

“ I suppose it’s all that intelligence extended. To be genuine in the way you are. “ It's disarming. The grin he meant to slip in to soften all those serious things died on intention. So he huffed out a bit of a laugh instead, mostly at himself. Half embarrassment, half play.

“ Makes it difficult for one to hide behind his usual tricks. That is where the fright comes in. “ With the admission, a little tilt of the head.

“ Captain. “
 
She keened her ear towards his words. The curl of her expression wound the more with each thing that was carried by his voice. The hint of play there, just behind teeth. The way he still froze beneath her gaze, and shook it off, as if the two of them had not just lived the same moment.

Made her feel warm inside, all the more. Like a drop of snow's melt, too full of the sun's light to keep frozen.

But Helena said nothing.

Set her gaze right back to center. Eyes forward and head high as she peered into the evergreen world that drew in all before them.

"A fine report, Syr Latva," she said,, with the smallest jut of her nose. "Most fine of all, to know you've been disarmed of your..." eyes full of all the amber promise of pines that took root in the earth. "Tricks," she eyed him, and that quiet mischief that always hid behind his eyes. That touch of curiosity. What those hands so sure about hammer and chissel, gripped against stone, no matter how long he stretched to reach across ladder's span to set that last brick, just right.

She blinked, and smiled the wider.

"Though I can't help but wonder," she pressed. "What sort of tricks you would try and play," looked with eyes that couldn't hide how much they sought. Set to easy jostle atop steady stead.
 
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Fine report. The terribly professional praise had him bring a gloved palm to his heart, a pronounced pat like that of a man thoroughly flattered. The smile he took on was solemn, almost repentant, eyes pointed somewhere away. Like hers were.

“ Thank you, Captain. I should be very glad indeed. “ And perhaps he was. May have been more so, had that been the end of it — dismissed and left to dry, all in good fun. That she should’ve instead lingered on, ventured further, was met first with a sidelong glance, then a crooked twist of the lips. Difficult thought, a measuring.

“ Hmh. “ Feigned amusement coloured the tone. He wanted to laugh at what wasn’t a laughing matter, not really.

“ More than each other, we trick ourselves, no? “ Without assuming, he spoke aloof — even if he fancied honesty just one more pretty thing she was in the regular habit of sporting.

“ That same old deception, deflection, denial, detachment. But you get to be convinced that’s who you are and it’s all terribly proper, in fact. “ He was of the mind to shrug, give that pretense of not caring very much when he should’ve cared all too much. He managed a mere fidget before catching himself.

“ It’s a wall, a guard, but they have their place. We all have some, do we not? “
 
She ponderd it a long, and horse trodden moment. The words he had opened up to her with. Cold and sure. At least, in the attempt to deliver them.

Each laid down with care and attention.

"We do," she said softly as their steeds went on. "Funny though," she let on, lips still curled in that way of proud petals toward the sun. "That you would use a wall of all things to describe these things we all have," tease clear in her voice. If only to see how the man took to it. But mayhap that was her wall. To test. To challenge. To find what was true and what was not worth her time and fancy.

And how she enjoyed that this man, Aarno Latva, so often had her questioning herself in ways she felt only made her more sure.
 
Funny, is it? His face contorted to a dog’s grin at the word, seriousness banished and tension bleeding out from every fiber.

“ Why — Because I build them? “ He inclined his chin proudly, sat a little taller.

“ Or are you perhaps supernaturally privy to my ardent fancy for breaching them? With these long legs of mine. “ He clapped his thigh and angled himself on the saddle for effect, offering the profile in a toss of the head, like settling to be studied for a portrait. She the artist.

“ Slunk on over plenty a garden wall, once upon a time. Believe you me. “ His eye narrowed as he regarded her anew, inspectorial.

“ How’s your climbing? Or does the good Captain prefer to finesse her own doors altogether? “
 
Toothy and wolfish. Tall and sure.

She felt the laugh pump up through her nose. Cheeks set to fuzz and tingle warm as they stretched up at the site of him chin raised, legs flared. The slap though, thats what had her crack into a laugh.

"Slunk on over plenty a garden wall, once upon a time. Believe you me."

"Oh have you, now?" she shot back. Settling into her saddle the more. Brows raised. His eyes turned sharp and gauging. She met them without a flinch.

"I find most doors open for me," she said easy. "And those that don't well," she grinned, every bit as toothsome and tall as he was, just as Roci strut the faster. "More's their pity," she said as the horse awayed with the stamp of hoofs, just a length ahead, wove through trees, and off unto an unseen trail through the brush.
 
Success enough, the jest. He could listen to that laugh all day.

But it didn’t do to fill the belly with merely a sweet thing — had never satisfied him either, not entirely. A dash of something else was there when she gave response and urged her horse ahead once more, so certain in both. All confidence was warranted, he figured, where she was concerned.

More was their pity, indeed. But need she be invited in? Or were the ajar and unlocked just as well.

“ Right you are, Captain. ” And he let her go without another word, not contesting to stay abreast. For there was a privacy to be found behind her back, where she’d leave him, which he was all the more glad to claim for smiling in. And to be silent in, as it took naught from him to keep Svala to the leading steed’s tail. It would remain there, step gently asway as steps meandered on away to the brush, path or no path.
 
In the quiet, she could feel her heart settle into its steadier rhythm.

Glad she could keep her smile to herself.

Glad to hear the pad of their horses trot, steady against the rustle of gentle spring breeze weaving through the needles and branches. Setting loose what stubborn clumps of snow yet hung betwixt those shady places, too covered by fir's shade to turn to slush in full.

A bit fell free in wet clump. Birds took flight, scared from their holes by the sudden sound. And Helena yet found herself still smiling through the beams of warm sun that peered through the canopy.

"And yet," she said back to him. Not one to hide the warmth in her voice. The ache to be warmer still. To fill that space he seemed to apt in letting be there between them. For every breath to be felt the fuller, as each pump of the heart there with it. "You'd call me Captain, still, Syr Longlegs?" she smirked back over her shoulder, brow piqued.

Roci kept sure their lead.
 
The quiet wasn’t for long, made shorter by not having a word for how he felt about it. Suppose it had been peaceful enough, the type that could bear being left to it’s devices. From it, two emerged all too soon.

The hint of that thought was in the arch of the brows from beneath which he peered directly at her, matching all that warmth with intensity of his own. Let it slip, stripped bare from the easy smile that was designed to reveal nothing. Caught candid.

It’s not like he hadn’t called her other things too. First names, even. Granted, titles were as much force of habit as they were an escape, but— to whom? He’d never held any particular fondness towards his, spoken seriously as it usually was. He worked his mouth before he spoke, like chewing up the syllables. Felt dry.

“ You detest that I should do so? “ He asked, unsmiling. Watching her. She who’d invited him all the way over here.

“ Even if chance was it were to be in endearment? “ Paused, only to catch that breeze of boldness in his breast that bade him incline forth in the saddle, towards her. Questing for the graces and daring to smile for it. Just the little.

" I do so enjoy the play of it. "
 
To think, he would look so open. No walls there to find. The gears of his mind, turning as if the cogs to a mill.

Detest.

She could hardly hide the twinkle that flash across her eye. Yet she must. She needs. Huffed it out her nose, and kept her eyes pointed at him. Want to laugh kept at bay while he kept his deadpan.

But like knew like.

And he leaned forward, eyes smoldering, and pale hair glimmering.

Her lips cracked into a smile of their own.

"I detest no such thing," she said, easy as the sun poured unto the wyld's floor. Nose flit forward as she smiled wider in secret. Tilt of the head set the bouquet of her curls to bounce. "Syr Longlegs the Walljumper," let the quiet spread warm over them. For the beats of four hoofed steps. "I find your sense for propriety, most," she let gears to her own mill churn. "Amusing,"
 
No objection, truly? He let himself sink back to the depth of his seat with new temperance, one he was want to force upon himself. Made an effort to nod in understanding, despite his lack of it. What was there to take, but the words and the smiles as they were, even if he’d perhaps hoped for something different.

“ Amusing. “ He repeated, working his tongue in his mouth and growing decisive in the face for it. “ There are worse things for a man to be. “

Like, improper, whenever situation called that he should be. For a beat, he watched the lazy sway of the brush around them, relatively expressionless save for the lightest dusting of smug air about the curve of his mouth. So much to look at, whenever it proved too hard to spy what lay just mere strides ahead.

“ Largely the culprit for how my life has gone, that sense for propriety. ” He added, airily. All the good, all the bad.

“ Suppose I’ll keep it up, if it makes you smile. ”
 
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