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Degas stood a little ways apart from the residents of Eodwine's hall, drinking water slowly and taking slow breaths to calm his racing heart. He'd known he would not win, yet he didn't mind. His competitive spirit was not for swiftness or for strength, but for words, knowledge, and experience. He reflected upon the day briefly, before hearing a sniffle coming from the shadows behind him.
He turned and saw the tear-filled eyes of Léoðern. He pulled from his pocket a soft handkerchief and wiped her eyes with it. "There now, darling, what is wrong?"
She sniffed a runny nose and wiped her eyes with balled up fists. "I want to race with the boys, but they will win. And everybody says that races are not for girls anyway."
Degas tucked a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear. "Girls can run in the rope-tie race," he reminded her.
"Yes, but I have no one to run with, and I am too small." Renewed tears streaked her cheeks and Degas knew immediately what he must do, though he was hungry and his calf muscles ached. He could ride for days with nothing but a little stiffness to show for it, but he rarely ran.
"Léoðern, will you run with me in the rope-tie race? We shall be partners, you and I, and I bet we can win."
Her eyes lit up as he whispered his plan to her.
"...and you hold on very tight, do you understand?"
"Yes, Degas!" she said happily, tears a thing of the past. Yes, the boys may get to run alone, but Léoðern had been specially invited to be on Degas's team. Her smile was bright.
"Now go get ready for the race, okay, sweetheart?"
"Yessir," she said, skipping off to tell her father what had transpired.
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