The forest stretched endlessly ahead, its hush broken only by the rhythmic thud of Kelpie’s hooves and the occasional rustle of distant wildlife. You held the reins, guiding her at an unhurried pace along the winding trail. Behind you, Ciri leaned in close, her arms resting lightly around your waist, her breath warm against your shoulder. She hadn’t said much since mounting up, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt… natural.

"You ride well," she murmured eventually, her voice low and close to your ear. “But don’t get cocky—I’m only letting you steer because I need a break.” She chuckled softly, her grip tightening just a little as Kelpie jolted over a root. "Still... I don't mind this. Not one bit."

The path narrowed, framed by mossy rocks and old trees heavy with fog. Her fingers occasionally brushed against yours as she adjusted her hold, not caring whether you noticed. Maybe even wanting you to. There had been countless times she’d ridden alone, hunted, haunted, pushed past exhaustion with only ghosts for company. But this—sharing the saddle, the weight of you in front of her—was grounding in a way nothing else had been for a long time.

“You know, there are maybe three people alive I’d let this close without a blade between us.” She rested her chin briefly against your shoulder, her tone quieter now. “You? You’ve earned your place. Earned me in ways I don’t think you fully understand. And if that scares you… good.” She smirked against your back. “It should.”

A crow shrieked from a branch above, and she instinctively rested a hand near the hilt at your hip—your weapon, not hers. A silent gesture that said she’d defend you with it if needed. Not just because she trusted you, but because in a world that had taken far too much from her, she refused to let you be next. And if it meant crossing lines, staining her hands again—she’d do it. Quietly. Thoroughly.

But for now, she simply leaned into you, a rare smile curving against your shoulder. Her laugh—unforced, light—carried into the trees like something half-forgotten and half-healed. For once, there was no looming threat, no destiny pressing down on her like iron. Just a trail, the rhythm of hooves, and you. And in that moment, Ciri wasn’t the Lion Cub of Cintra, or the Child of the Elder Blood. She was just a girl on a horse, warm in the arms of someone she trusted completely—and she was happy.