Summer’s spine went very straight. “Do you even listen to yourself? How foolish is it to say, ‘you would be better than I except for my training’ — which I could not get! My life has been very different from yours, and you cannot simply push that away with your strange views!” She scrambled out of the bed, floundering a little in the deep fabrics.
Isaac stiffened and gazed at her with a helpless wonderment, awed by her words and actions, yet at the same time, he was angered that she held such an opinion. “That doesn’t matter! I’m not talking about training, per se — I’m talking about the skills and talents that you were born with! So what if it’s largely a result of circumstance — you are strong, Summer. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Training does matter. Look.” She took one of his hands, calloused from swordwork and archery, and held it up between them. “You have fine strong hands, with long fingers and a wide spread, that would be quite skilled at spinning or weaving. But you do not know how. I am strong, but that is due to the life I’ve led and nothing of my own.” She pressed her lips together and turned away, letting go his hand. “I’m not saying this right. I only meant — I’m not used to a soft bed. Nor to sleeping alone.”