“Where’s that wretched nag!”
Grumbling under my breath I ignore amused looks and grinning teeth that peek out from grizzled yellow whiskers. The Rohirrim cough to hide laughter behind weather worn hands. They have watched me pass no less than thrice this day, trailing the same willful steed, to the same striped tent.
I watch him flirt shamelessly as the golden lady feeds him sweet grain from an even sweeter hand. How can I blame him? He is bold, while I fluster in her indifferent gaze.
“You’ve charmed him, I think, lady Eowyn.”
She smiles, and my heart is lost.