“What?” she sniffed, and rubbed at her face. “Oh, fine, I know. You don’t think that. It’s not what you meant when you said that.” Summer sighed and sniffed again. “I’m sorry. It’s this place. I need — I need to get out. I’m … I’m going down to the shore. Do you want to come with me?”
Mordred smiled, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Of course, lead the way.”
She patted his hand briefly before standing up and glancing around the armory. For half a second she thought she could at least finish cleaning up, putting her armor away, but the weight of frustration weighed too heavily on her shoulders. She had to get out.
“Come on,” she said, and led Mordred to the stables. She didn’t even have to say anything; the stablemaster took one look at her face, shook his head slowly, and sent boys scurrying to tack up their horses. As she mounted, the stablemaster holding the mare for her, he said quietly, “You be wary, lady.”
“I’ll try,” she replied. It had the tone of a habitual exchange.