Ouroboros Spine yn rhedeg mewn cylchoedd

"As you should be," Llewellyn answers, his tone a bit sharp. Her declaration that solitude did not scare her had only served to deepen his frown. For all she was knowledgeable about these lands, she was young, and came off that way. Her pie-in-the-sky attitude would do her no favors, when winter came knocking and the creatures of these lands became cold and hungry. Desperation turned good men into thieves, and bad ones into demons.

Still, he is somewhat glad that she at least had considered the negative aspects of her situation, especially as summer reaches its climax. The prince lets out a long breath through his nostrils, trying to regain his composure once more. She has time, anyway. Time enough to find a home, at least, if it comes to that. And it will come to that. What else will she do?

"I, too, must find a home before the snow starts to fall," he says, looking mournfully into the valley. How long, until the water below turns to ice? "A pity. It is not my favorite of seasons. But it has its place." He glances back up at Speedy. Rests his gaze upon her face, silent and contemplative for a long moment. "If we meet again, I promise that I will not let you freeze."

A chivalrous offer, to be sure. Would his father have had it any other way? Llewellyn had been raised by a king, not a pauper. A courtier, not a savage. This is his bended knee to her, a pledge, of sorts. Protection and care. Whether the impetuous girl will take it is entirely up to her.