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Mordred grunts, his eyes fluttering open after a few seconds and he smiles. “Good morning” he mutters, moving into a sitting position “you didn’t have to.”
While he’s doing that, she saddles the horses and repacks the blankets. Her mouth quirks when she looks at him; there’s an errant curl sticking up over one eye that gives him the look of a particularly demented and dashing fae. She brings his horse over to him and holds it while he mounts, then swings up herself.
Mordred smiles down at her. “Thank you,” he says gently, throwing his cloak behind him, draping the back of the horse. The horse huffs, moving under him irritably and Mordred grips the reins, steering him in the direction he needed to go in. “This way mate.”
The sense of immediate urgency is a little less today, but the memory of that spike of pain last night keeps her heels to the horse. It helps that they approach lands familiar to her from earliest childhood very quickly. Summer lifts her head from the half-doze she’s fallen into at the sound of hoofbeats ahead, and she lifts a hand to Mordred, slowing their pace.