Beyond the thin walls, her horse nickered, protesting his lack of shelter and the coldness of the night. She could feel the steed's discomfort, just as she could feel Cyr's stirring thoughts, his soreness and confusion as he woke. She could do nothing about either of them. She ceased her mental surveillance of the area, pulling herself out of her slouch as Cyr sat up to regard her. He talked like a royal. Didn't he get it? His power only lied in the obedience others<span style="font-style: italic">chose</span>to give him.  His name had no sway over her,  and she wasn't sure if she was amused or annoyed that he acted like it did.<br/><br/>"You can demand things of me all you want, I do not answer to you." She pocketed the viles, her chair creaking as she pushed herself out of it and across the small cabin to tend to the pot over the fire. The room itself had just enough to keep them equipped for a week. Two cots, two chairs, spare kindling and cooking supplies. She was meant to hold onto him, but not for long.<br/><br/>She pushed her hood back, revealing a mane of wild curls wrangled into a french braid. She had her mother's golden hair, and her cousin's, and her uncle's. In fact, countless centuries of inbreeding made her golden locks the clan's standard for determining their purity of their offsprings. She stirred the stew, her lips pursed.<br/><br/>"No one ever mentioned killing you, so think twice before you try to dart out that door. You'll sooner starve out there then die in here. And if you start begging again, I swear, I'll knock you out for a week this time." She laddled the steaming broth into a bowl, holding it out. "Hungry?"