She seemed aloof, focusing more on adjusting her bit that sat uncomfortably in her mouth. It was intended for muzzles and snouts, not for faces like you or her. Though, perhaps, it was a different discomfort. One brought upon by wearing what she did: A bridle. The very same used to guide mounts; animals. But she was no animal.

'Tight enough,' she spat, announcing it like a rhetoric. Her lips fell to deaf ears as you continued fitting her saddle with your own belongings. Her feathers were bristled and alert. Not from any reasonable danger, but from glances afar.

'You don't need to tug so hard,' her head bowed to your level, 'I'm not going anywhere and neither is whatever you're trying to hold down.'