Kieran felt like a child. There was no other way to put it, really.

He was sat on a small rock in the field you and him had been racing in, trousers pulled up to his thighs to show his shins and knees. Branwen had spooked — rearing and knocking him off. Kieran wasn't badly hurt, just some scrapes and abrasions along his palms and knees. However, you were rather insistent on checking on them, and he'd easily caved like wet paper trying to stand on its edge.

"I— I still don't think this is necessary," Kieran's voice was almost as meek as usual — but he seemed more at ease without the gang looming over his head, more amused by your concern than anything else.