The breeze fans against her skin pleasantly, not as much as to trifle with her hair styling, but enough to tug the hem of her dress gently to one side. It cues her to take in a slow, deep breath, the breath of spring tickling her nose with its perfume. She smiles to herself, and her horse casts her a sidelong glance as if in agreement. Spring was the favorite season of Evelyn's to visit the stables- though she did so year round- and they both knew that that would mean much riding.

Perhaps this was why she was relieved to hear his reply, or rather, she was more so relieved that he received her tone well. It was odd in a way, to enjoy the sense that they were being humorous with each other. She felt that their conversation kept with much formality, though she was still sidestepping through the words they exchanged with care. She was having a hard time sorting how exactly to place him in her mind. He was an officer, a man worthy of many respects and admiration all around, to be received warmly though a brutish nature should be kept in mind; he was not in the court, thus a lower rank that her, and while respect and civility was expected she was not required, as a lady, to converse often with him; he was her designated guardian, to be viewed as knight could be, a well-respected man yet a person whom one can confide in; he was a man- she stopped there, a bit befuddled.

In some sense, she viewed him entirely as a knight, yet she could see his warrior mentality and the humbleness accustomed to those of lower classes. When he was humorous as so, or when she was observing him at play with the boys, however, she knew not where to place such behavior. She took a sort of joy in seeing this, fancying that perhaps this was the side of him that was simply a man. As her thoughts clouded her mind she accepted his reply to her humor with a small smile.

After he spoke next, however, she felt obligated to reply, if only in acknowledgement of his humble words. They were to be admired from her end, the formality in the gesture of bowing his head towards her topping off the careful words in a majestic manner. She knew her father to treat him kindly as it were, the bond between soldiers close to that of family. If she knew no better, she would fancy him a part of her family in some foreign sense. Before her thoughts could go too far astray, she would grin and reply with simplicity, "My father's full confidence lies with you." She did not disagree with him nor state anything not already assumed, her slow manner of speech instead replying to him by explaining the treatment of him. For he deserved such, loyalty outweighing class in the eyes of her family as for now.

As he mounted his horse, she would look to hers without needing to be told to so. She swung herself up onto Thea's saddle in a practiced manner, knowing the movement all to well. This was something many ladies would not wish to do without a hand, if they were able to at all. Beneath her the horse adjusts its feet in another gesture of impatience, Evelyn experiencing a similar excitement as she sat up and look ahead out into the grass of the courtyard and beyond into the lightly scattered trees. It was then that she cast a glance towards Wolfe, one hand on her saddle and the other on the reigns as she then let the horse set into motion.

Thea began at a gallop, though with Evelyn sitting firmly astride her companion knew her pace could quicken, as it gradually did. She sat with impeccable posture, leaning forwards only as Thea accelerated, a warm smile spreading onto her face as her eyes took on the brightness of a joyful child. After crossing the grass, the dapple grey would take a trail cutting under the trees without the need for Evelyn's direction- they'd taken this route many times. It was only when they reached the light shade of the trees that she glanced over at Wolfe, curious as she now always seemed to be of the man.

“I owe him a great debt, my lady,” he says, sincerity sharp in his voice. “I was no-one's son, and yet he treated me with great kindness, and that shows him to be noble.”

Wolfe owes a great debt to Evelyn's father; he would perhaps have not accepted this posting if he did not. Traditionally the role of palace guard is much more sought-after than that of a soldier, but even if he were a simple foot-soldier Wolfe would always choose to go to war. It isn't that he enjoys it, exactly- although his wanderlust is eased by the constant motion- but that he knows that if he doesn't do it another man will have to. He really believes what he tells the men, which is that their dangerous and poorly-compensated role in the kingdom's wellbeing is the most crucial. He knows that when a kingdom's soldiers allow themselves to be beaten back by an enemy, it is all over; the next day the enemy will be at the city gates. There is, to his mind, no option; he fights them today out in the desert, or in a month's time in the city itself, shoulder-to-shoulder with women and children who deserve to be protected.

But when he was offered this prestigious post that he doesn't want, he never considered refusing it; after all, it is a great honour. It was handed to him by a man whose judgment he respects over that of any other. They go back a long way, and Wolfe understands acutely that a great risk was taken the day that the King decided to grant a mercenary's wage- and later a foot-soldier's status- to the son of serfs. It is no exaggeration to say that this decision was what made Wolfe what he is, what he chooses to be; a warrior halfway between officer and everyman. If he is lonely, stranded between jack and his master, as the old expression goes, he doesn't let on. The division is written into everything he is and does, however, even the way he treats Evelyn; in the mixture of humour and reserve there is an acute awareness that he is not where he belongs. That he is, in his own words, no-one's son.

This morning though, his back straight as he nudges his powerful charger to a leisurely canter, he looks every bit the gentleman. The warhorse's rich chestnut hide does not so much as ripple as he moves away, bunched muscle shifting, lean and tight, under the skin. In this way they are well-suited; Wolfe powerfully-built and bronzed by the sun, his mount a bright bronze animal meant for covering great distances. He is surprised to find he has to come away hard to stay at Evelyn's side, even though Duke's strides are long and eat up the ground in front of them. He casts an admiring glance across at Thea and her mistress, smiling as they come up level, the courtyard disappearing behind them.

Evelyn smiles to see that she was not wrong in her assumption of Duke's appearance nor Wolfe's riding skill. The two kept up with her and Thea rather well, as expected of a war horse and a soldier that could enter battle yet return to their kingdom not injured, as it seemed. For a moment she fancied her father might have kept this in mind while making the decision, but probing the mind of her father had never been a strong suit of hers. So, she accepted it, and felt her mind relax from the refreshment of the freedom that she felt came from riding horseback.

As Wolfe came up level to her, she was perhaps a bit taken back by the smile lighting her face. She had seen such before, but never quite in the same manner-- he seemed to be enjoying himself, and this gave her a sense of the man she had seen playing with the stable hands earlier in the day. It seemed her reaction was natural to her, a smile instantaneously lining her lips as she let out a small laugh. Her footman would have been struggling at a speed they had already passed, much the less keep pace with her and Thea.

She rather admired the horse beneath Wolfe, the stallion's muscle definition astounding as it was set into motion. It's speed was impeccable, it's size definitely a contributing factor to such. Yet she still held the dapple grey beneath her in higher regards; it's frame built smaller than any war horse, it's coloring a bit unusual from what was considered sought after, and it's muscle definition was only average. Her speed, on the other hand, was a gift that required no impressive build.

Evelyn fancied they were very different, herself and Thea compared to Wolfe and Duke. Both on her side were fair-skinned, with Thea's mane nearly matching the light blonde of Evelyn's hair, and both of a small frame from a standpoint of build. Neither had impressive strength nor true valor to boast of, but they had their quirks. Wolfe and Duke were both well-developed, in a manner that Evelyn supposed could be enviable. They had both seen warfare and undergone training, and are each perhaps, a tad foolish at times. Duke with the practiced trick, Wolfe in his unexpected actions, such as playing with the stable hands.

There was a slight curve along the trail, winding around a hill of sorts that Evelyn realized she had mapped just last night. They would near the Eastern border if kept on track, and as Thea gradually picked up a bit of speed once more Evelyn didn't seem to quite mind approaching doing so. There were grasslands beyond the trees ahead, much space before any trouble could be had. Before this they still had yet a length of trees ahead of them, the shade somewhat cool, the soft breeze intensified by the speed thy rode at. Evelyn closed her eyes, if but for a second, taking in a deep breath and relaxing herself. Her hair flew behind her a bit rambunctiously, but not enough that she truly cared. For now, she simply wanted to enjoy herself, as she was doing.

When she opened her eyes she would look over to Wolfe once again, admiringly as of the thoughts she had had in mind concerning him, with another smile. "This part of the trail used to be a section of the trading networks," she spoke above the pounding of hooves, "The river is but a few hills away." This was the normal resting point for Evelyn and Thea on their rides alone, and in the back of her mind she wondered if it would be a good idea. Stopping there would permit their horses to rest, and she supposed seeing the old rest stop of which she had been so fond would not be an unfavorable thing to do.

Duke's little trick may look ridiculous, it may even be a little bit ridiculous, but it is a useful one nonetheless. It is a part of the rigorous training that he has undergone since Wolfe cast an experienced eye over him and chose him, despite a skittish inexperience and poor temperament. It's funny, but it's meaningful, too; it is a quick way to check that the horse is focused intently on his master- essential on the battlefield. Duke has borne Wolfe away from some lethal situations because the two are connected; when he feels Wolfe flinch or tense, he knows when to dig in and when to head for higher ground. He has carried his master unconscious through swamps and borne him through the desert to friendly ground. Their bond, like the silly trick, goes deeper than anyone else knows. When the horse tires Wolfe will take him out to pasture, pay a local boy to feed and groom him. And if lamed in a battle- the vastly more likely outcome- honour dictates that Wolfe will be the one to slit his throat. It is always a surprisingly hard thing to do.

He works the horse hard- keeping him exercised and fit without another war to go to will be a challenge. Wolfe will need to ride out most days, and keep the horse lean and groomed, his hooves clipped and shoed. Unlike most men in his position, he prefers to exercise, groom, and provision the horse himself. It is a skill he has found invaluable, as it allows him to demonstrate a certain deference when lodged with other officers. Traditionally, as the lowest of eight men of equal rank, he cares for their mounts when they stop at an inn or make camp for the evening. It allows him to show a certain humility, while retaining their ear in tactical discussion. Evelyn's father despises the custom, but he cannot change the attitude of generations of breeding overnight. For love of his favourite lieutenant he reluctantly is forced to turn a blind eye. Thus subtly, and by degrees, they advance.
Wolfe wonders who will be advanced to replace the dead men. He has spent so long building up a rappor with other officers, outranking in a military sense those who outrank him socially by clear orders of magnitude. The idea of starting again makes him weary.

Evelyn rides well, her mount fit and strong and lighter of foot than Duke. Where Thea can navigate gnarled roots and shallow water concealing pebbles with ease, Duke needs to be driven hard and with great care- he often falls behind, only to surge forward on the flat. Wolfe's technique is not as refined as Evelyn's; where she sits straight and drives delicately, he uses his voice and his hands, leaning forward to better site himself for unsteady ground. The language he uses is not the Western tongue used as court, but the tongue of his men, a local dialect which he speaks as a native. He rides like all soldiers ride, using his knees and thighs to control speed and every other tool available for subtlety. First and foremost, what matters is having the horse's complete confidence, and knowing that it will ignore other men, mounted and on foot, the screams of other horses, fire and steel, and listen instead to its master's voice.

'Not injured' might be overstating it a little. Wolfe, who has been wounded enough to know when to summon a surgeon and when to simply wait for the wound to heal, is not quite well. Where a narrow blade has sliced the vulnerable skin below his gauntleted shoulder, he endures a low note of pain whenever he straightens his back. Unconsciously he has begun to favour his left side a little, and it is only when he realises that Duke is listing left that he realises he has taken up a protective posture. When he straightens up, pulling Duke up sharply to pause beside Evelyn as she surveys their route, the accustomed dull ache sharpens into a white-hot flash of pain and he narrows his eyes, jaw setting. Feeling him flinch makes his mount unsettled, and Duke shifts from foot to foot uneasily as they stop, nudging Thea in his anxiety until Wolfe recovers and reigns him in tight, murmuring something.

“I know it well. In the summer the archers ride this way, hunting the young roes when they're fortunate enough to come upon any-” he tells her gesturing out into the lush woodland. “...and tree-trunks and squirrels when their luck runs out.”

He works his shoulder carefully, extending his right arm and clenching his fist as he tests its motion. “Where next, my lady?”

The thought of resting still rolled on through her thoughts with the knowledge that the mare beneath her would not have the endurance of Duke, and taking into consideration that she had not been ridden thoroughly for a month or so. Evelyn would despise herself if she injured Thea by means of stressing her with too much exercise after such an extended period of rest. She knew better, and would see to it that such did not happen.

Upon seeing the uneasiness from Duke, her eyebrows drew together slightly, a nagging feeling drawing her attention. A bad taste suddenly filled her mouth, and she tensed noticeably enough for Thea to slow her pace. As she was nudged her horse moved further from his in response and became uneasy itself. Evelyn would drive her to a halt, one hand at her side gently as she her gaze swerved to look over at Wolfe. Her eyes were unwavering as she looked over his person as if studiously for a moment, taking in his position, facial expression, and the action of his hand.

She drew in a breath as realization seemed to hit her, though she daren't speak of it. Her assumption that he had returned uninjured was false-- her thoughts had been entirely too shallow in their judgement of thus. Vaguely she remembered the days in which her father used to ride out to battle with his men, and while even if he had returned injured her mother always coaxed her into never speaking of it nor fussing. In turn, he had done his best to hide any hint of injury. It was this notion, along with her remembrance of spotting blood on his uniform the other day as he greeted her,that struck a note in her mind. How had she let this slip by her?

Still, he had asked where they were to go next. This caused a small grin to appear on her face, her head shaking a bit in response,- while she wouldn't probe his honor by speaking of her knowledge of the wound, she daren't think she would stress his body further by insisting on taking a long route about the orchards. Instead, she absently stroked the pelt of Thea with one hand as her gaze traced a path to the side of the trail lying just ahead of them. "Perhaps a rest near the river, I do not wish to weary her after an extensive absence of riding..." she spoke thoughtfully, careful with her words, then smiling towards him from over her shoulder as Thea was put into motion at a steady gallop.

As she had explained, the creek was just beyond a small curve of trees that took but a few minutes to reach from the pace of a gallop. Thea came to s stop just along the river bank, and Evelyn hopped down with ease, simply letting go of her reigns without the intentions of tying her up anywhere. She saw no need to do so, and knew better than to think her horse would take off. The bed of grass beneath her was soft on her feet, even with the presence of leather boots to part her feet from the ground. She stood beside her horse for a moment, stroking her neck fondly before turning to look at Wolfe.

Her thoughts drifted for a moment to Liatto, lingering on what punishment he may take. Quite normally, political offenders of that sort would be executed, regardless of circumstance. Though with his being a part of the court, and a hunting partner of her father's, she was unsure. If he were still alive right now was even a question to her, but none of which she wished to think of. Thus, she let out a soft breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and looked over the slow-flowing river with a small smile.

"My father was not wrong in his judgement of your horsemanship," she commented warmly, in a complimentary fashion.

There exists a tradition whereby the wounds of the men are tended first. Ostensibly, this is crucial to morale... however, many of the officers choose to see private physicians in their own pay when at home rather than risk the rough-and-ready medicine of the field surgeons. Wolfe, who draws an officer's salary and never seems to spend it, has his own reasons. He has grown up respecting officers of the old guard, who wore dark clothes to ride into battle on its second day to disguise wounds which still bled in order not to demoralise their followers. He is loath to admit any weakness, whatever his company, although privately he has begun to wonder if he ought not to seek a physician's opinion. Perhaps the time has come.

He rarely carries wounds for long; he's young and strong, and usually shakes off even the gravest hurt after a few weeks' leave. That said, the pain does give him pause if he were to tax his body; he can move freely, but he is punished for raising his arm above the shoulder by a sharp wave of pain below his shoulderblade. He would be shamed if he knew Evelyn had noticed; her silence is highly diplomatic in this case. What he doesn't realise, for all his careful wordlessness, is that his body betrays him; pain, anxiety and anger can be read in the lines of his body, his stance, his broad, restless hands curling and uncurling at his sides. He'd never make a politician.

Soothing his uneasy mount by leaning forward to murmur to him, he only nods to Evelyn's directions, caught up in spurring Duke into a canter in a single bound. For a moment the two lag behind, navigating the tussocks of the descending pathway, and then they catch up and power along beside Evelyn and Thea. When they stop in the orchard, Wolfe hops down one-armed with surprising lightness of foot for his considerable bulk, using an apple tree to support him as he climbs down. Duke makes for the water, and is pulled up short by a sound from Wolfe, who calls out a single short syllable.
He tests the horse's resolve, waiting for a long beat, and then slaps his flank to send him on his way.
Thea may be resting genteelly, but the great chestnut stallion has no such qualms; he plunges into the fetlock-deep stream joyfully, drinking his fill before rolling awkwardly onto his back. Wolfe does not have the heart to reprimand him, but stands for a moment, watching the horse with a kind of fondness.

Pulled from his reverie from Evelyn's compliment, Wolfe shows his age for a moment, a suggestion of pleasure bringing colour to his cheeks. He remembers himself, turns away, and deflects the compliment skillfully; “Your father and his followers taught me everything I know,” he says, almost absently. On the ground, there is something restless about him. He watches the horses for a moment, working tension from his shoulders unconsciously, and then a notion takes him and he sets his sights on one of the trees.

It is not exactly stately behaviour, but he has a mind to pluck an apple for Duke, and an adolescent taste for surprising Evelyn into laughing. He tests a branch with his good arm. Even one-armed, his soldier's physique serves him well, allowing him to pull himself up onto a low branch with surprising ease, on which he crouches unsteadily in order to reach an apple hanging on a higher branch. Palming one shiny green apple, he polishes it ostentatiously on his uniform, pockets it, and selects another before dropping down, hanging for a moment by one arm before landing on his feet in the grass.

He is still wearing the cumbersome steel he carries into battle; it is permissible only for soldiers, and even though it still draws attention in town, he is unused to going unarmed. It makes him feel naked. Drawing the long blade a few inches, he slices the apple firmly against his thumb and eats a slice himself before tossing the remains to Duke, who plucks it from the water and pulls it whole into his mouth with great gusto. He tosses the other apple from palm to palm for a moment, the gesture redolent of the lawless child he must once have been, and then remembers himself and proffers it to Evelyn.

His deflection of her compliment was of no surprise to her, but she did grin in reply. Whether or not her father's men had had a hand in teaching him, he had honed a fine skill in her eyes. Regardless of its origin it was a skill to be had nonetheless. Her gaze served from him to Duke as he entered the water without any sense of abandon.

This made her smile, giggle even, one of her hands rising to her lips as she watched curiously. It wasn't something she had expected of any war horse. Then again, the silly streak of Wolfe's steed was now only continuing. Beside her, she was surprised to see her own horse restless in appearance. Thea snorted softly, picking up each of her hooves in as shuffling manner until her actions caught Evelyn's eye. She was confused for a moment, but following the direction of her horse's gaze to where her own had been, on Duke, Evelyn smiled and shrugged silly. "I suppose there's no helping it," she spoke softly to her, then patting her side once to demonstrate her allowance.

Thea took off into the water as well, though perhaps more timidly so than Wolfe's horse. She would stand oddly at the side of Duke as he rolled onto his back, instead bending to drink her fill of water and watching him curiously. Evelyn watched this for a moment with a warm smile before shaking her head a bit and turning to see what Wolfe was doing. At first use was a bit dismayed to see him beginning to climb the trees, but after a moment her confusion wore off to make way for amusement. "Do be careful," she spoke softly, more to herself than he as she watched him with a sense of happy awe. It was odd to think that it was the sometimes silliness of a quite normally stiff soldier that brought out her smiles without failure thus far.

She laughed softly, though wholeheartedly as he tossed the remains of the apple he had sliced to Duke-- a light sound that had a musical quality, as warm as her father's burly laugh, though in its own soft manner. As she was in turn offers an apple, she looked at him curiously for a moment before accepting it with the slightest if coloring in her cheeks. "Thank you," she chimed cheerfully, then whistling shortly to Thea. The dapple grey turned to look at her fully, eyeing the apple then backing itself up a bit. Evelyn smiled and nodded to her, then giving the apple a good toss in her direction, where she would catch and eat it eagerly.

She would watch her do so for a moment before again turning to Wolfe, this time resting her back lightly against the tree Thea had been standing near. In a fashion that may be considered somewhat unceremonious, she folded her skirts beneath her so as to keep her modesty and allowed herself to slip down swiftly into a sitting position. Her legs stretched out before her in the grass, the white of her skirts soon to be stained, though she knew it was nothing that could not be washed later. Hesitantly, she patted the earth beside her for if he wished to sift before she was somewhat startled by a loud splashing from the river. Her head turned to see where her horse had turned over onto it's side, neighing joyfully, stirring a great surprise from Evelyn as it mimicked Duke's actions. Evelyn smiled and laughed cheerfully, scratching the side of her face in a shy manner, not quite sure what to think of that. It was endearing for sure to see such, but it did catch her off guard.

Wolfe watches the young princess urge her horse into the water and smiles to himself. She has a certain grace, a stateliness that confirms his view of the world comfortably. It is no coincidence that it is he who steps back from the line whenever he might be seen to take a compliment personally or speak out of turn; he is very aware of their difference in status, and it shows. However frank and informal he is being, there is a division drawn between them, a line on which he walks with care. It is natural enough that he would be the one most aware of it; he is used to seeing her as an extension of her father, by whom Wolfe is wholly outranked. Perhaps he can see a little way beyond that this morning; he affection for her mount, her impressive horsemanship, and the simple pleasure she takes in the outdoors, all recommend her to him.

He cannot be much older than she is, at least not in years. But he has grown up on battlefields and in the camps that surround them, and bows his head to noblemen automatically because he learned some bitter lessons that way as a boy. Men of his class grow up fast, leading brief and brutal lives, marrying early and unwillingly. The vast majority of his contemporaries will be fathers several times over. He knows that his men wonder in whispers why he is not, and he has neither the inclination nor the eloquence to explain that something in him rebels against the idea of a man outranking his wife, as he surely would were he to ride home to his parents' village and pick a girl at random.
If he is ever lonely, it doesn't show.

Or perhaps it does. He certainly responds when he manages to make Evelyn laugh; he can't help but smile a little himself when she does, some adolescent impulse satisfied as much by her fear for him when he climbed up as the colour in her cheeks as he hands the apple over. He watches Thea eat it, with rather more delicacy than Duke, with his head on one side, pleased.

Standing in the shade as Evelyn slides down the tree-trunk carefully in the dewy grass, he winces as he thinks of the grass staining her pale dress, the wince of a man who has to do his own washing, or of one who spends scarce money on fine clothes for status' sake. He is not wearing mail today, merely a rough cotton tunic cut a little too small across his shoulders, woollen britches and good leather riding boots, although he has retained the sword. It gives him pause when she pats the ground beside her, but he unbuckles his sword belt with care and hangs it on the tree beside them, folding his great square form with care and taking a seat a stately half yard or so from Evelyn's side.

Even seated, watching the stream on a bright summer morning with every suggestion of peace, he is not exactly at rest. He works his gauntleted hands, his aching shoulder, draws lines in the dust beside him, or watches Duke with distant eyes. It is clear that there is something on his mind. Eventually he clears his throat, fixing his eyes on the horizon where he wishes he were, as men do when they are proud and ashamed. “The assumption I made, yesterday evening...” he starts, and then falls silent, casting around for words which do not come easily. When he is anxious or frustrated he pulls up his shoulders rigid, muscle working under his shirt as he makes a decision. “I should apologise. Whole-heartedly.”

He lapses into silence again, turning a rounded pebble over in his fingers absently as he thinks. It comes slowly and with certainty. “If I offended you, it was not intentional. I spoke out of turn, and I am sorry.” While graceless, the frankness of his admission has a certain power, the accountable, human note he takes as a commander. He cannot quite look Evelyn in the eyes. Clearly the memory of his slight on her honour has been preying on his mind.

Evelyn was at first unsure of if Wolfe would accept her offer to sit by her, informal as it was, due to his pause. A smile did draw across her lips as he moved to do so, however, her gaze then moving off towards their horses. After some moments of silence, she turned her head to look at him almost studiously. It may have been considers impolite of her to do, study his person so, but it was not done in a derogatory nor questionable manner.

She was simply looking him over, finding it odd to see the man in clothing aside from that of a soldier-- in other words, without the presence of armor. Without such his form was smaller, albeit still as built as she remembered her father once was. She also took note of his continued action with his shoulder, though she still daren't speak of it. For a moment she considered the possibility of discussing such with her father, but even to do that might insult him in some manner. Her father would no doubt insist upon one of their physicians caring for him, and while he would be treated with what she suspected to be the utmost care, a thoug tugged at her mind to make her feel that it may be embarrassing or poorly telling of his honor as a man to do so.

Her thoughts of her earlier glimpse of him at play with the stable hands also came to play. He could most surely pass for any kind gentleman of the town, and was kept in a manner that even some of the court were. To not see him the light in which she viewed the soldiers was odd, though not entirely refreshing in some sense. In this manner she could easily picture him becoming much like the man she had spoken with the other night at the small feast, a respectable older man of the court, a retired soldier with good humor and a level head. It was an admirable way to live, in her opinion, regardless of how idle it may seem in the eyes of others.

When after a short time of silence, he spoke, his words were not entirely what she expected. The apology was clear and showed a blunt approach of sorts though his words were not necessarily ill-chosen. To discuss the insult of yesterday brought the faintest of flushes to her cheeks, not quite comfortable with the idea that he had questioned her honor. It was a bitter thought, though more embarrassment became of her than she had anticipated. While she was not fond of the thought that her fraternizing with Liatto was the first thought that came to his mind upon seeing them, she still had to take into account his perspective, and the idea that he was now apologizing sincerely for what she believed to have been a cruel stance.

Her gaze dipped away from him as she lulled over a response, her right hand again rising to rest on the side of her face, scratching there gently in a manner of shyness. "I was not flattered to hear such, but I realize what appearance the scene gave off," she admitted in a slow manner. She wasn't quick to give her acceptance of such, but it was clear she wasn't narrow minded when it came to his thoughts. "I cannot expect one who doesn't know me well not to assume such. In those circumstances. Though," she paused, voice faltering in the slightest from her normal confidence as she found an embarrassment true to maidens speaking of virtue to rise in her.

"It is my assumption then, Lieutenant Wolfe, that mayhaps you do not suspect me of such behavior now," she finished softly, a question in her voice, albeit a hesitant one. She held him with a respect, in that she valued his opinion as she did that of the rest of her father's dear favorites. Though after spending a bit of time with him she did hold her own personal opinion of him, though it did not seem to differ from the pleasantly her father spoke of him.

If this is not his world, then he deals with it, in the manner of his kind, by not dealing with it. He is insulated from court matters by his essential humility of birth, a circumstance which is of some comfort to him. He has learned a lot riding by Evelyn's father's side, and acquits himself passably in conversation even when the topic turns to politics or to the arts, although his favoured subjects are likely to be hunting, horsemanship, and the unique politics of battle. He holds himself as a gentleman might- at least when he remembers to- and rides without style but skillfully and with his own powerful grace. Evelyn is compassionate to think that he might one day live as the older generals do, comfortably on the court's indulgence. Wolfe believes what the foot soldiers believe; that soldiers never retire.
They die honourably and are remembered.

It is clear that there is no place for him in court. Some things are innate, and Wolfe demonstrates a certain wilful incapacity when it comes to deception; he refuses to mislead the men or his superiors, calling integrity what the other officers would call stubborness and naivete. Perhaps they have a higher understanding of their role, and his iron adherence to integrity is naïve. Or perhaps they think of the men under them as little more than playing pieces in a great game, while Wolfe sees them as men of his own kind, fathers and husbands and sons. Part of his sympathy will always fall with them. It has caused a certain genteel uproar in court before now. It is only Evelyn's father's indulgence of his blunt idealism that allows him to maintain his status.

It is this same idealism which comes into play when, wincing, he raises the question of his slur on Evelyn's honour. Another man, perhaps correctly, would let it lie. Wolfe is unable to, although it pains him to say it and it pains him more to hear her speak of it, the discomfort on her face a ringing reprimand.

He shakes his head as she recalls the scene, pained, and lifts his eyes to hers, his expression one of grave sincerity. Her maidenly blush does her credit; this is clearly a topic she is not used to so much as broaching, let alone trespassing upon. He cannot imagine why he might have thought otherwise, apart, of course, from the fact that he is not innocent in the same way that Evelyn is. The conclusion to which he leapt does him no credit, but it sprung naturally to the mind of a man who is- however chaste in his habits- experienced in a world into which Evelyn has not yet ventured. The thought is scarce comfort to him.

“Not now, my lady-” he tells her, stricken. The question in her voice arouses such pity in him that he cannot think how to respond strongly enough, and falls silent. When he falters and cannot speak the movement of his body speaks for him; he leans forward, squaring his shoulders with a certain deliberateness, curling the scarred palms of his hands into fists at his side.
“Not a moment after I spoke. It was more... an ungentle impulse than any judgment. Would that I could take it back.”

Her gaze shifted oddly from the bed of grass and mud beneath them to look directly at him only as he finished speaking, the way he positions himself speaking perhaps a bit more highly of his thoughts than his words were. Then, of course, his words were far telling enough in her eyes. To bring up what another would dismiss, if only in order to apologize for speaking such, was unusual in itself. For a moment the deliverance in his movements struck her in a manner that she nearly recoiled for the tone she had just used.

Whereas he was seemingly level-headed, even as a maiden, one wasn't supposed to act in quite the manner that she was acting. As a maiden, they shouldn't even be speaking of such-- yet here they were, and she was ill-prepared. Nevertheless, her stiffness in the way she sat let way to relaxation once more as he gave her his answer, a soft breath she was oblivious to have been holding left her lips. A grin slid up along them then, a bit of brightness returning to her face, and though the coloring had left her cheeks they retained a healthy glow about them.

She is silent for a moment, hesitant at first, then fully smiles in his direction. Evelyn gives him a curt nod and accepts the apology, never having foreseen such sincerity in Wolfe, regardless of how respectable a man he was. The sincerity was nearly as surprising as her notice of his humor, and of the more tender side she supposed he now had after seeing him with the stable boys. Still, even after these gestures she believed the apology deserved more credit than so.

"The mistake was forgotten," she spoke with better footing now, her tone perhaps a bit warmer than she had meant, but showing of how pleased she was with him. As if in a calming gesture, one of her hands rested on the nearest fist her had coiled gently, if only for but a few seconds as she spoke. "Your sincerity is unmatched, of course I shall accept your apology," she allowed for a smile in his direction before removing her hand from his hesitantly, now unsure of if that was entirely called for. She reckoned her mother would have done the same- though there was a difference between she and her mother which now made her weary. Once more one of her hands rose to her face, though this time passing it, and instead moving to rub the back of her neck in an odd manner as her gaze then left him to favor their horses.

"There court will host a hunt in a few days' time," she spoke more casually now, having driven the previous from most of her thoughts, "Pray, will you join?" This might have been expected of him if she were to attend to see the men off into the woods, for being that she would be left with merely ladies, and there would surely be no threat held among them. Her father would not allow one of his rank to miss the opportunity to hunt alongside him if he were not busy, and seeing that he was now living in their household, she assumed she may as well invite him if her father had yet to.

If the coolness in her tone stings, Wolfe lets it pass. Truthfully, if he feels anything at all when he hears her voice turn hard it is a little relief. He wants to establish their roles, to find himself reprimanded and humble himself. In this way he feels not just indulged, but forgiven. Forgiveness, to his mind, is something that must be earned, and making a showing of his sincerity is his way of appealing for it. It is not a ploy; Wolfe is the last man to play for affection or repute. It is, in its clumsy way, the only way he knows to show her what he is thinking. It is clearly not easy for him to make space for contempt, but something in him deems it necessary. As a child, like all boys of his era and class, he knelt for the whip in the schoolroom, the shame of which was far more of a deterrant than its mild sting. Perhaps something of that proscriptive method of punishment has left its mark in the way he chooses to confront his failings unblinkered.

But then, why would he not, when her response is so openly favourable? Feeling Evelyn relax beside him, his posture eases a little. He had not exactly expected Evelyn to smile on him so, and the favour charms him more than he has the vocabulary- or the right- to express. He craved her indulgence, but had not expected her forgiveness, let alone the warmth, the bright smile, that she offers him in return. The expression that flashes on his face is guileless, another suggestive flash of the easy way he might have had if his life had taken a different path. It is possible to catch him pleased, and like catching him at play or alone it reveals something he does not realise he is concealing.

“Not by me,” he responds, the short phrase imbued with a certain strength. It is something like a promise, more powerful than his formal oath of service because it is unsolicited and not finely spoken. He hadn't realised he has his hands curled into fists, an anxious habit he adopted to counter the uncertainty he feels when he finds himself unarmed, uncertain or unprepared. He doesn't even know how easily his body betrays what he is feeling, and is as surprised to find his hand curled tightly closed as he is to feel Evelyn rest her hand over his. For a moment he stiffens, his posture betraying his surprise and discomfort. It would be improper of him to respond, improper of him to reject the intimacy. The thought comes unbidden that in truth he is not averse to the closeness of her. He looks down at how small and fair her hand looks on top of his broad fists with their scarred knuckles, and then he eases his shoulders a little and sits quietly until she pulls her hand away.

The next question is carefully spoken, and he recognises it for what it is; a signal that their conversation will move on. He thinks it over for a moment, and then shakes his head shortly, regret and humour in his wry smile. “I doubt it. Some of the other-” he accents the word oddly, with exaggerated care- “...gentlemen feel I have an unreasonable advantage. It is to his credit that your father often invites me, and to my own that I decline.” he adds, his smile amused rather than pained. He has ridden with the hunt before, when pressed, but even the King, once a skillful rider, struggles to keep up with Wolfe on the loyal Duke... who has a tendency to get a little carried away. Restraining Duke for diplomacy's sake is nothing short of a cruelty. Easier all 'round to refuse. “Besides, I could hardly leave my post, my lady. After all, it is hardly a secret that you'll be otherwise unattended.”

The subject of Liatto's punishment, on this note, is one Wolfe is trying to steer around. He thinks that Evelyn saw something in his face that night that suggests he has his own way of dealing with men who would steal from women what should only ever be freely given. If Liatto's punishment is lenient, Wolfe will wish he'd left the palace guards out of it and dealt a little reprimand of his own.

Prior to seeing his reaction to her gesture, she had already begun to regret its informality. After taking into consideration the tension she could easily see in his person she felt so embarrassed as to apologize for doing something mildly intimate as such. Thou she thought it was a rather innocent gesture that she simply meant to help calm him it seemed to do the opposite and she decided to keep that in mind for future reference. She was trying to form the words to make some sort of apology but the subject had changed swiftly enough for her to simply dismiss the notion.

While this reaction did not surprise her, his words on the matter did. Though few, they were spoken with a strength that stirred a stroke of admiration in Evelyn. It was his duty to protect her now, yes, but to claim as such not to forget an insult he had bore her was sincere and spoke highly of his loyalty. This pleased her greatly, the smile lining her lips remaining just as it was as she nodded slightly towards him, though unsure of if his claim required a reply of sorts.

His choice to refuse the offer to the hunt was also to be expected of him, however much of a burden his last words hung on her. Though he did speak truly of his skills of horesemanry against those of the court, part of her wished he had simply accepted. Her father would have enjoyed the company regardless of having to work hard to keep up, and the other men could use a healthy dose of competition. She smiled, laughing shortly and softly in reply to his humor before nodding in agreement, "Men of the court can always use a healthy dose of humility." Her tone took on a playful manner, her words spoken in a way to avoid insulting her fellow lords but tease their behavior in a favorable way nonetheless.

Then letting out the softest of sighs, she rested hey he back of her head lightly against the bark of the tree behind her. Her eyes trailed off before her as he thoughts wandered off on the topic of Liatto and what would become of him. She knew her father would have run him through with his own blade had the circumstances been different. Taking into account the internal problems the kingdom had, as well as external, the fact that Liatto was indeed a lord and drunk during the encounter, and the lack of favor in the idea of stirring fright in the court, she did not assume his punishment would be as severe as it normally would be. If anything, he may get his place in the court taken away and the threat of death upon further suspicion. At least, this was what Evelyn thought.

Glancing over at Wolfe, she couldn't help but to think that his thoughts may be on the same matter. So, hesitantly she spoke up, voicing her concerns hesitantly. "My apologies if the subject is beyond the normal of a lady, Lieutenant, but pray tell me what the punishment may be for the lord?"

“I am not sure they see it in quite the same light...” Wolfe responds, although in truth he is charmed by her subtly anarchic streak, her treatment of the court as they are, rather than what they project to be. She knows what he knows; that for every venerable old man and noble ex-soldier there is a proud, petty, political snake in the making. Wolfe has no favour for them, and the compliment is returned in kind, although there are those- chiefly soldiers and good officers who recognise his value and his integrity- who regard with a certain kindness. “They hunt to relive their glory days. I would not deny them that.”
Their antipathy towards him never seems to disturb him unduly; he seems to speak of it with a certain pride, assured that he is annoying the rich, proud untouchables who ought to be annoyed. He understands the way of the world, after all, and his place in it.

Perhaps he would like to be accepted, if not in court, then somewhere. Lately he has found himself unwelcome too in the taverns he haunted as a younger man, an impediment to the men relaxing while on leave. He finds their attitudes to the working girls of the town, many of whom have lost their husbands or sons in the war and fallen on hard times, abhorrent. Denying them trade has made him unwelcome there too. It does not give him so much as a pause for thought; after all, when has he ever found time to frequent taverns or dine at court? This will be the first year since he became a man that he has not ridden out to the campaigns when the frost starts.

“Liatto?”
His face turns dark. Evelyn hardly needs to ask what Wolfe would have done in her father's shoes; his expression says it all. He'd have run Liatto through himself for a song, and while he is glad that he did not, he regrets it, too. Easier, and cleaner, that way. It might even have saved the old man's honour, and spared his wife the humiliation of knowing what kind of a man she married... or having the rest of the world know it. “When a man chooses to drink, he chooses the consequences,” he says, his tone hard and clear. He delivers a similar lecture to his men whenever drink is proffered as an excuse. “He is responsible. Your father is... unwise,” he says, faltering, the words 'a damn fool' hanging unspoken between them, “If he doesn't banish Liatto. It brings the court into disrepute. They should want him gone. I fear they will be too lenient.”

The notion that the men of the court would not quite agree with her words was a given, the smile lining her face with his answer a demonstration that she understood such. While all honorable in some manner, she believed that at times they needed something aside from jousting for excitement or some sort of challenge. She knew it was the same for herself, which was the reason she had begun horseback riding in the first place. Her fellow ladies trained with her thoroughly in languages, eloquence and other mannerisms, knitting and such, but none fueled neither a competitive spirit nor a sense of excitement. Whosoever claimed such was awe-inspiring.

It was not often however that she rode alongside someone with the skill to easily trail or exceed her and Thea’s pace. For this reason, she believed such experience may not only be healthy for the men, but also refreshing. Nevertheless, she did not question him in his resolve, also seeing the flip side that she would be unaccompanied and the elder members do get some glory in being able to present some skill in hunting. The retired officer she spoke to last night would surely be one of the many.

Her fears of her father’s judgment were confirmed in his words, a chill of sorts coming over her as she adjusted herself uncomfortably. Her flesh heated slightly, anxiety heightening a tad though her thoughts remained relatively level-headed. “Years ago my father would have done far worse than so,” she mused somewhat dryly, recollecting when the kingdom had flourished in her younger years. Of course, then Liatto would have had no reason to act as he had. Sighing softly, she let a small shrug roll off her shoulders, “If they do not wish him gone, I fear for my father.”

Wolfe has never had to look outside himself for excitement, although he wouldn't deny that he thrives on it. The war provides its own recompenses, not least giving him an excuse to ride until he falls down with exhaustion, allowing him to rest well. A restless man by nature, serving some inner impulse that runs him hard and never lets up, he is almost never still. Even sitting still he is constantly in motion, constantly working his body and mind. He gets a certain relief from riding, running, fighting until he can no longer stay on his feet. Who knows where he will find that same relief now that he is no longer to ride out when the frosts come? Perhaps he will have to emulate the Lords to whom he so condescends and hunt in pitched wars, overindulge in rich food and strong wine, stage formal duels and chase after the chambermaids...

He cannot understand how they live the way they do. In another life, he might have allowed whatever force pushes him on to overrun him. He is not alone, he knows, in being a man whose way is tempered by war. The war gives him balance, a certain purpose. Maybe it is a feature of men in particular that they cannot be happy without something to pursue, be that a fox, a foe or honour itself .

“Perhaps I am mistaken. But Liatto has his supporters, I imagine. He is owed favours all over court.” he adds, darkly. This is the sort of thing that goes on, the sort of thing that leads him privately to declare the court twisted as a sack of snakes. Those who would do ill, or who are protecting a shameful secret, band together for something like protection, and vote in favour of ill-doers for no sound political reason. They oppose those who would expose their sin, and protect other evildoers for the sake of face, and before you know it the court breeds vice and actively shuns integrity. Evelyn's father presides over a court which is far better than most. It will be a telling trial of his power to see whether he will successfully shun Liatto for his daughter's honour.

He is pained to see Evelyn look uncertain, and lifts his eyes to hers, frowning. “Do not fear. Your father has far more friends than enemies. And you can be assured that if he were to so much as raise his eyes to you, I'd keep my word. I'd cut him down.”

( OOC : Just noticed how short my other response was-- thought it had been longer. Sorry, hehe. )

While Evelyn did not doubt the pleasantries her father exchanged with many of the court, it was of public notice that there were those members that were now disgruntled. When a kingdom struggles with external war, those within the court are just as restless as the wives waiting for their soldiers to return home. The kingdoms innards are shownby their consequenit actions, be it they are favorable onr dishonorable. It so happened that under pressure the under belly of their kingdom was not at all as favorable as it had once been.

Under the current circumstances, however, she knew that Wolfe's words of her father still rang true. There did seem to be those with the intentions of serving themselves before the kingdom as a whole as well as a few lords and ladies that were beginning to crack under pressure. Soon, she dreaded, many of the members of the court would turn to aid their western neighbors in bringing their demise. They had always been loyal, and not altogether indecent people, but it was not unheard of for those kingdoms in the midst of being overthrown. In these times, it was hard to think of, but she knew it to be necessary to consider.

Liatto of all the courtiers, she had never been very well acquainted with. She did pick up on the fact rather easily however that the man was well-respected, wealthy, and charismatic enough to boast of a multitude of connections. Her father would have to balance any punishment dealt with this in mind, and what it's consequences may be with the rest of the court. He would also have to make the difficult decision between defending his daughter as opposed to keeping the unifying ties between the kingdom's citizens together.

Evelyn despised the thoughts she had rolling on through her mind so rapidly, closing her eyes for a moment in a futile effort to relax herself. This was when Wolfe spoke-- his claim asserted with the ability to quell her fears that she had not been able to do herself. The ghost of a grin slid onto her face, and while she did not reply for a while, she did re-open her eyes. Her head turned to the side slightly so that she may observe him carefully for a moment. She was caught unsure of how to reply, her eyes holding a curiosity within them that rather matched a child's.

Letting out a soft breath she hadn't known she was holding, she relaxed a bit, running one of her hands gently through her hair as she thought to herself. When she replied, her appreciation would be made clear, but also the bit of doubt she now held with the court. They would not submit to exiling a fellow member for a drunken night's mistakes, she already knew this. "I do suppose so," she started, agreeing with his words on her father before flipping to his claim of how he would tend to Liatto, "You hold my respects and admiration." Her words were simple, though complimentary and warm in a sense, though not overly flattering. She had picked up on his willingness to shrug over such to others, but the speech on her part she figured may be humble enough that he would accept.

Wolfe has to make an effort to relax; he knows it is discomfiting to the people around him to see him on his feet, pacing, distant. He has always struggled to make himself sit back and take life as it comes, perhaps because for a comparatively young man he is used to moving through life at a frenetic pace. It is a consequence of the battle he has had to have his skills recognised, but also perhaps of his inability to stop and think about what he is doing; it has never occurred to him to stop and wonder what he's working for. Working hard, riding hard, making himself better has become an end in itself. Perhaps once he had a more clear plan, a way he would work, a point at which he would stop and go home, marry, enjoy the fruit of his labours.

If that point ever existed, it has long since passed. His contemporaries are married, and he knows that he is regarded with a certain suspicion for his chaste personal habits; among soldiers, a man who refuses to walk among the camp followers and visit the ladies of ill repute is a phenomenon in itself. He phrases it as a moral choice, but there is something else to it; frankly, that he feels pity for the girls before he feels anything else. They are just children in his eyes, and to a woman they look tired and frightened, aged before their time by rough treatment, uncertainty and shame. It goes hard for any man found to be taking advantage of them, although he knows they have to make money somehow, and forces himself to turn a blind eye.

Making himself sit back and relax his shoulders, he closes his eyes, listening to the running stream and gentle autumn breeze. Evelyn's soft, educated tones are profoundly soothing; he could listen to her talk, he realises with a guilty glance, for hours. She is not talkative, but beside Wolfe she seems positively conversational. What does he really think, about Liatto, about the King and the court? When they talk about it, his tone is guarded and uncertain, with an undertone of disdain he does not manage to conceal.
He looks away as she turns to look at him, uncomfortable under her scrutiny although not entirely unhappy about it. He swallows, shakes his head, begins to shrug off the compliment and then changes his mind and accepts it. “Thank you. I do my duty-” here he smiles sharply, aware of his less-than flattering reputation for dogged determination and naïve fixation upon integrity- “I'm well known for it.”

Evelyn's gaze followed his downwards as she looked to him with compliments. She assumed he would disregard them as he began to speak, but was happily surprised to find that he did not. The smile was a pleasant surprise of its own, bringing out a very maiden-like stir of both joviality at his acceptance and a tad of shyness with her admittance of so. His words lead her to nod curtly in his direction, though in a softer gesture than her mother or father would have.

As her gaze again trailed away to look down along the rows of trees, a smile flickered back to life on her face, and her body relaxed fully against the tree. Her posture was to be envied, but even so, her clearness of thought was something lacking in most of the courtiers at the moment. There came times when she too panicked, but it seemed that speaking with a rational man did her some level of good. That, and she would not deny her pleasure in his company. He was altogether a good man from what she had known, respected for his achievements, humble in his manners, and not lacking a good sense of humor.

"You deserve to be," she commented thoughtfully, on his note of being known for his actions and behavior. That was true, and not to be denied him by anyone, of the court, his men, or in the ranks of even her father. She then rethought that, her father simply adored the man and they were on terms of a warrior's bond, however was he so well-respected amongst the court? In appearance it seemed so, but a topic Liatto picked at in his drunkenness last night irked her.

What was that he said about Wolfe? she thought to herself quietly, her eyebrows drawing together slightly. She believed it had been something along the lines of getting to her before he was appointed-- meaning they were wary of him, and for good reason. A grin played along her lips as she relaxed again, deciding upon sharing her thoughts in an attempt to humor him. "Liatto spoke of you last night," she began slowly, as if thoughtful while she was in reality trying to string it together in a manner that would rouse his humor as opposed to the shared discomfort they seemed to have on the subject earlier. "If I recall correctly, he feared you. I am sure this goes true for most of the other court members," she then finished, standing upon doing so and brushing off some grass from her dress. She then stretched lightly, not meaning to leave but to readjust her position.

After speaking it also occurred to her that perhaps the court would vote in favor of banishing Liatto, not only because she knew at least a part remained loyal to her father and herself, but also because they feared being thought traitors. While Evelyn was guarded by an officer, any would fear for doing so while in the castle, even if he were not even given the orders to attend. Her face paled a bit, knowing that it was only tradition that she attended, bore witness to the events. This unnerved her more than their discussion earlier.

The sound of running horses near alerted her, her head turning to see a small trail of smoke rising from the trees from what she knew was a path from the east into the castle. Curious though careful, she leapt upwards, grabbing a tree limb and hoisting herself up in a somewhat graceful manner though not so swiftly as Wolfe had. While he showcased strength while doing so, all she had was some practice. Then standing upon the branch near the tree's center, she placed her hands upon its bark to steady herself as she looked off over the rows of trees.

The sighting of the team of horses astonished her admittedly, for it was a sign that court would soon be held. Quite normally it was taken into consideration for a longer period of time, but this was a timely reply to the calling of the nobles. This could be a method of transport for any lord or lady alike, but the mediocre speed of the horses and the black coloring of their gear itched a feeling in her mind that this particular team was that of Liatto's. Whether they were here to drop off his wife, transport him home, or escort him off of the land, she remained uncertain.

Not wishing to look upon it further, she slid down into a sitting position upon the trees branch, her feet swinging in front of her lightly as she let out a soft sigh. She had just begun to enjoy herself and it seemed business may be calling when they arrive back at the castle, not that they still did not have time before doing so. A thought struck her and she picked four apples, holding them in her top layer of skirting, several layers remaining beneath to kept her modesty as she casually slipped down one-handed from the tree branch with some lack of grace shown in her clumsy landing. What mattered was that she landed on her feet.

She lay the apples upon the grass carefully, then let out a small whistle to Thea. Knowingly, her mare approached with no hesitation. Smiling, Evelyn petted her gently with one hand, speaking softly to her for a moment before fishing off her saddle bag. From it she withdrew a blanket, which she lay out on the ground, and a small basket containing a bit of lunch courtesy of her ladies. She sat down upon the blanket, then admitting her horse to return to the river for a drink as she polished the apples on a bit of cloth and sent a small smile to Wolfe from where she sat-- there was still plenty of room for him to sit beside her. "Care to join me?" she asked warmly.

There is something unguarded about Evelyn that he had never expected; out here she seems younger, not less dignified but somehow more human. He knows he should be flattered to be alone in conference with someone so far his superior, but- perilously, he knows- he finds himself forgetting that their positions are so ill-aligned. He respects and reveres his King, but while in Nicholas's company he does not forget himself and relax. He is the only courtier- if courtier he is- who can be relied upon to drink moderately and hold his tongue.

The Lords of the court call his mindfulness servitude. He has his admirers, as well as his detractors, and is kept well-informed of how his reputation stands. The more scornful caricatures cast him as a kind of mascot of the King's, a powerful, simple, tame animal. Some conceal their own flattery, casting Wolfe as his namesake, or as a tame wild beast, while others see him in a less charming array, as a dray horse or other mulish and heavy-bodied beast. He is not entirely averse to this portrayal, irked though he is to be the subject of scandal. He aspires to be single-minded and loyal and strong.
What they think of as slow-mindedness is not an inability to adapt; it is an unwillingness to surrender integrity. He knows that his refusal to scuffle or slander or drink too much makes him unpopular, marking him out with great inaccuracy as ambitious and scheming. He does not court their favour, and is not pained when they withhold it. Their anxiety around him is the anxiety of morally pliable men around the incorruptible. More than one has tried to exert influence over him, assuming that because he is not a wealthy man a bribe will be irresistible to him. Those who bear a particular grudge are those who have been turned down, in no uncertain terms. They fear him speaking against them, fear his influence with the King, and know that he has a short temper and a fomidable sword arm.
It is respect, of a sort.

Something changes in his face when Evelyn talks about Liatto. He has strong feelings about what went on, and is not entirely proud that he restrained himself from dealing a blow to more than Liatto's pride. He doesn't like to hear Evelyn speak of it, and gets to his feet, needlessly agitated. Perhaps he misunderstands her motive for saying so, mistaking idle speculation with something more profound. He frowns. “He should. As for the others, they say that good men have nothing to fear.”

For the usually taciturn Wolfe, this is tantamount to a declaration. It is also very nearly anarchic, coming from the lips of a serf's son, a bonded man at least in rank. He is aware he has overstepped the mark, and shakes his head sharply at himself. This is what he feared; that he'd get too comfortable with Evelyn's easy way, and give away too much.

Thankfully, he is distracted by the team of horses stirring dust to the East, back towards the castle. He turns his eyes as Evelyn does. Ever the soldier, just their presence is enough to put him on alert; he glances around, and quickly remembers himself and retrieves his sword-belt, hanging on a tree. He would be mortified to admit it, but the sword-belt and his weapon are a comfort of sorts. He has developed an anxious habit- as all warriors eventually will- of running his fingers over the pommel of his blade when he is uncomfortable, reassured that he could draw at any moment. Business calls, at the castle.

Not, apparently, right away. He takes a seat obediently enough beside Evelyn, although he is distracted, his mind at the castle. He is anxious that Evelyn will be disturbed by proceedings, anxious that things will not go the King's way politically... anxious that it will be a threat to his own position.

It would be hard for Evelyn to deny that she was left unstartled by Wolfe's declaratory response to her words regarding Liatto. To think that he had mistaken her meaning was a mild understatement, his discomfort obvious and his words breaching a sense of obscenery. She stared at him incredulously for a moment, her facial expression nearly perfectly composed with the only exception of her slightly widened aquamarine eyes. She shifted a bit uncomfortably herself, her gaze then leaving him to favor the ground upon which she now sat.

While she had forgotten who exactly she had been talking to, and she scolded herself for doing so, it also appeared he had done similarly. It were not as if she could bring it upon herself to scold him as well-- and he had done nothing so horridly lacking in manners that he hardly deserved the reaction she had given him. So she lifted her chin once more slowly, nodding slightly to herself before letting her eyes move to rest on him quietly. A lighthearted grin lined her lips, though it would be clear from her new facial expression that she had yet to relax so yet again. She viewed it as a shame. It was not oft that she was able to speak with someone near her age so comfortably, and yet here she had gone and stirred discomfort in a soldier.

Sighing softly to herself, she rather forced herself to lean back against the tree once more, seeking a position that would at least appear comfortable in some manner. She didn't wish to keep the man on edge, and seeing him reach for his sword was no more comforting than his earlier words. Her face paled a tad, but she withdrew her gaze from him to return to the basket that her ladies had prepared fir them. Regardless of whether she or he was truly hungry, it would be rude of her to not at least eat some of what they had so eagerly packed for her. She adored them in a sense, really, and held a deep respect for even the youngest of them.

Evelyn withdrew a small, though sharp knife from the folds of cloth and slid it skillfully around the outside of one of the apples to peel it. Then setting it down upon the blanket once it was bare, she would move to unpack the two, small plates and bits of fruit and salted meat that accompanied them. She moved quietly, her gaze now minding to avoid him for now as she set up the bit of lunch. A small bottle of wine tucked within the recesses of the basket she left entirely untouched, instead taking one of the glasses just a bit upstream from their horses to fill with water.

Evelyn's expression falters, her eyes wide, and when she looks away Wolfe curses himself inwardly. He must not forget to be conscious of the line which divides them; he is in her service, after all. At the heart of his discomfort is the fact that he feels strongly about the deceit endemic in court, but its cause is the fact that he simply hadn't expected her to be so personable. He cannot remember the last time he sat and talked so frankly with someone; it's no wonder he does not do it with Evelyn's finesse.

Perhaps he forgot that she was a princess. If so, it would not be unfair, perhaps, to suggest that she forgot he is just a soldier. His politics are simple and heartfelt and often hard.

He turns his back on her, taking care to compose his expression, and something about his uneasy posture must speak to his horse, because Duke raises his head and approaches. Wolfe raises one hand, stopping the horse short before he stomps all over the blanket that Evelyn has laid down. He and Duke both, he thinks, are a little too rough for this world. He steps around her, carefully, and lifts his hand to gentle the horse's face absently, squaring his shoulders. Their communication is effective; Duke can sense when his master is uneasy, and knows when he is not needed, backing away into the river after Thea.

When he turns around, Evelyn is sitting alone, quietly laying food out on the blanket. He feels for her; he is poor company for a princess. At least if she'd been attended by a footman they could have shared a slightly more cultivated conversation.

After filling her cup with a bit of water, Evelyn would stand from her place kneeling along the banks of the river to return to the place she had taken on the blanket. Sitting her glass down first, she looked up to Wolfe hesitantly, seeing him gentling his horse as if he too sensed the discomfort. Thea stood obediently over alongside the river, her neck turned in a fashion as to look at her, though she daren't move. Signing softly, she withdrew her gaze from Wolfe and Duke to send a small hand gesture in Thea's direction, in order to communicate that she needn't worry.

As she quietly continued to go about assembling the two plates, her thoughts were abundant, most on the topic of why he had reacted as such. It took her a moment to attempt placing herself in the mind of an officer still loyal to her father, for she did not often find herself thinking in such a manner. Her hands worked carefully to slice the bare apples when something seemed to place itself into her mind, a sudden thought that her words on the subject were far too lighthearted. Someone that actually felt a personal way about such matters may be offended, or react in such an unexpected way as Wolfe had. Silently, she cursed herself for not minding the topic more delicately, her facial expression drawing together as she came to the mental realization at about the same time that the knife she had been using slipped in her hands.

The small blade found itself dug gently into the inside of her palm, the crimson coloring off blood already making its appearance as Evelyn let out a soft, albeit startled cry. Sighing softly with a hint of her frustration now showing, she took up her glass of water in her hand, and after having removed the blade to reveal the notable yet not at all brutal cut, she would run the water over it gently. Then withdrawing a dark cloth that was to be used as a napkin, she pressed her hand firmly to it, and pressed the two collectively against the ground. Her gaze followed her hand, her thoughts surrounding more so how her words may have sounded to Wolfe than the small wound she had just given herself.

Dismissing the lunch she had set up as well as her hand for the time being, Evelyn's heavy gaze then made its way back up at Wolfe. She spoke testingly, haunted by her lack of manner, her eyebrows drew together as her tone was utterly earnest. "My apologies," she began oddly, the words not At all new to her though their need was from a different cause than of the norm. "I should not have take on the subject lightheartedly, I did not mean it so," she spoke softly, though her voice would come out clear as per usual.

Wolfe would be the first to reassure her that he is not offended; if he reacted strangely it was first because he feels strongly about the politics that stand for due process at court... and secondly because he spoke out of turn and he knows it. To beg her indulgence a second time on this trip seems excessive, so he is caught between the desire to brazen it out and a chastened silence. He feels as though she has led him to talk out of turn with her easy confidences, but blames himself rather than Evelyn; after all, why should she know how to talk to a soldier? And who does know exactly what their relationship indicates? Here they are, a noble and a soldier, sitting down together to dine and talk politics. He has even made her laugh, seen her blush with pleasure, seen her climb a tree... theirs is hardly the relationship he'd expected. He does not, he knows, have a comfortable mode of behaving for this situation.

Privately, he has been assured there is no scandal to his accompanying Evelyn when she might otherwise be alone. Her father knows Evelyn to be chaste and Wolfe to be honourable, and naturally prioritises her safety, particularly in the light of Liatto's thwarted attempt to try her virtue.

He is still standing by Duke, stiff-shouldered, deep in thought, when he hears Evelyn cry out. He turns his back swiftly, stepping towards her, and draws together his brows in an expression of concern. Absurdly, for one so used to physical peril and serious injury, he is pained to see that she is bleeding.
“My lady, I am not- you have not offended me. I spoke out of turn, and was-”
He struggles to find the words, as ever, and casts around helplessly for a suitable expression. It is at moments like this that he feels desperately out of his depth in the more formal Western tongue, and longs for the language of his people, whose syllables spring easily to even the clumsiest tongue.
“I was trying to find a way to counter my hard words without making a lie of them. I really do believe that those who fear me do so with good reason. I stand for your father. I always have. Their loyalties are perhaps more... complex.”

He steps back, drawing a small, flat-bladed knife from his leather pouch and a short length of clean linen. The knife he washes in the stream, cooling it in the clear water, and then he kneels beside Evelyn and opens his hand to take hers, the flat of the blade couched in his free hand.
“Here. You need the cold, and pressure, to close it cleanly.”

Evelyn's eyes still diverted him as he explained himself, which was humbling in a manner yet not altogether called for. Her good hand rose to rub the back of her neck absentmindedly as she weighed his reactions to both her apology and the concern, if she were not wrong, that followed consequently from her small injury. To have him speak of his loyalties, to allow an always-loyal, active part of their military to explain their loyalties to her, disgusted her inwardly. He didn't deserve to have them questioned.

While it was his choice to do so, she assumed her reaction to his bold words had provoked it. She should have known better than to react in such an upfront manner even if the two had been speaking frankly with each other. It was only expectd that an odd reaction from a noble would prompt another to do so. After his explanation, albeit a tad broken, she couldn't hop but send a lighthearted grin in his indirection. In a manner, one that she would never admit to her ladies nor her parents, she found this part of him endearing to say the least. Not to mention the concern and actions he demonstrated over the sight of her blood.

As he opened his hand to take hers, as if in an involuntary demonstration of her trust, she placed her hand within his gently without so much as hesitating. Her eyes remained focused on the ground for another moment or so again before she went to look at her hand within his, an odd feeling in itself without taking into account the situation. The warmth of another's hand against hers was not something she often felt, and some part of her savored that as her gaze then moved up to look up at him in a somewhat shy manner.

"I trust in your loyalties," she reassured him earnest, her words a bit hurried as she claimed so. Then pausing hesitantly with the knowledge of the edge of boldness in her words just now, she let her gaze sink once more to their hands as a warm blush covered her cheeks with a bit of embarrassment. "What I mean to say to say is that I do not believe you are in the position to need to explain your loyalty, Lieutenant," she then explained in a more casual fashion, regaining her composure.