Winter’s fingers twitched, ever so slightly, and then she stepped back. “I think I will go inside.” Her voice sounded strange, and Summer started up from the grass, hand outstretched. Her twin flicked a hand, and she stopped, then glanced down to Mordred.
“I, um, sorry. We — I didn’t mean — sorry.”
Mordred swallowed, looking up at her. “It’s fine – there is nothing to be sorry for —” he tells her, glancing away, chewing his cheek.
She sighed. “Well. Is there aught you want to do?” She looked down at herself, leather and leggings and sweat, and added, “I should probably bathe, and put up my gear properly. I’m sure if you ask round someone will be willing to train with you — or I could.”