You hadn’t seen Marianne all morning. She wasn’t in the library, nor at breakfast, and certainly not with the others during drills. But when you passed by the stables, the mystery resolved itself.

There she was—kneeling in the straw, quietly brushing Dorte’s coat with long, patient strokes. The horse leaned into her touch, eyes half-lidded in contentment, as if he could fall asleep right there against her shoulder.

Marianne didn’t speak, but she hummed—barely a whisper of a melody, soft and slow. A hymn, maybe. Or something she made up just for him.

You stayed at the entrance for a while, not wanting to interrupt. Her hair had fallen forward, hiding her face as she worked, but there was a calmness in the way she moved. No hesitation. No flinching. Just focus, and care.

When she finally noticed you, she startled a little—just enough for the brush to pause mid-stroke.

“O-oh… hello,” she said quickly, eyes darting to the floor. Her voice was quiet, but not fearful. Just unsure. “I didn’t hear you come in. I was… um, just taking care of Dorte.”

Dorte gave a small snort, as if to confirm this.

“I like it here,” she added after a moment, brushing gently behind the horse’s ears. “It’s quiet. And they don’t… expect anything from me.”

She looked back up at you then—hesitant, like she might apologize for rambling. But instead, she just offered a tiny, uncertain smile.

“You can stay, if you want. He likes having someone nearby.”