[Amanaduial the archer]

Atharen looked up sharply as Crystal laughed. The sound was like intangible water, like immaterial gold flowing through the air...a few lines of a song sung by a sweet voiced minstrel who had once passed through his mother's Inn came to Atharen's mind as he looked at Crystal.

The lady of the wood is fair of face,
And gold spun fine around it flows.
Fair and chaste, her voice is pure,
She sings as nightingale in midnight grove.
Fair and chaste, her voice is pure.
Fair and chaste, her heart is yours...

The ranger blinked as the last line crept up on him by surprise, and he very nearly blushed at the foolish thought. Daft and fanciful, your mind is, fool, he remanded himself, then grinned slightly. As the company began to move, Atharen moved his mare forward to Crystal's side and bent slightly in his saddle to speak from a few inches above her head.

"My Lady Crystal," he murmured, and she spun around, shocked. Atharen continued, unphased, his dark eyes unmoved. "Crystal, you cannot walk whilst we ride."

"I am strong enough, Atharen," she replied proudly, and subconciously straightened up slightly, her chin rising: every inch the daughter of a warrior.

I do not doubt it, he replied mentally, but aloud said, "Aye, but 'tis impractical to wear you out: if we were to be attacked again you would be of no use and would not be able to get away to help Maen either. My mare can carry two - will you join me?"

His logical reasoning made it seem like purely a practical arrangement, but for once Atharen was not meeting the other's eyes as he spoke. As he finished, he lowered his gaze to hers, knowing they would give nothing away to either Crystal or his other companions, although he was secretly, ridiculously, a little nervous of what she would reply.