Emberwood maybe i'm just like my mother; she's never satisfied

Her happy, self-confident attitude melted like ice in the sun at Bronco's reticence, and it only got worse as he grew more nervous. She shrank into herself, ashamed for making him feel like. . .this. Even his smile did not help; she stared at him, blue eyes wide and mournful, her face dismayed.

I'm sorry, Blueberry managed, once he'd stopped stammering. I didn't—I mean, I didn't mean to make you upset. I just. . .wanted to learn from you. I didn't even—

I hadn't noticed your scars. Or she had, rather, but hadn't seen them as anything to be ashamed of. Her parents had been similarly marked; she'd thought nothing of his mangled appearance. It was just life, right? She imagined she would end up so tattered.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. It's okay; you don't have to, she murmured, then increased her volume a tad. I drove off an intruder the other day. He was big. We didn't fight but I told him to 'fuck off.' I just—next time, I guess, I might not be so lucky. I should know how to fight.