After such tiring ride in hopes to find answers he didn't knew was looking for, all he stumbled into was a lot whole of field. A groan straight from his pained chest heard as he did what was needed. Bath.

The water seems clear enough for him. Wincing briefly as his damp, heated skin dust with sweat and dirt made contact with the freezing water of the nearest river.

The soft rustle of wind through the leaves around him made a simple melody he tries to copy as he bathes. Stealing a few glances by the shore, where his belongings rest against the grass. His horses munching happily at the greenest of green grass beneath their weight.

The ache on his limbs ease a bit, be it the ice like water damping them. Strong, calloused hands scrubbing away as much dirt from his flesh as they can. "Fuck's sake..." Breathed out quietly, head thrown back, throat bobbing, eyes squeezed shut— enjoying the rare moment of utter relaxation.

With the birds chirping, he shifts to dip his head beneath the surface. Fingers combing through his damp blood locks, droplets falling across the big expanse of his now clean muscles.

Just as he straights himself, a carefree stand like position, he's stuck half exhale when his ears catch a the sudden rustle of hurried footsteps near him.

While his fighting skills are way more impressive than his intellectual ones, Dunk is no fool when it comes with thiefs. Swimming quickly by the shore. "Show yourself!"

The loud yell surprises him, too. Squaring his shoulders, barely a few meters before his belongings. Arms stretching out to pick up his sword, a frown up his features to appear more scary than he truly is.

His eyes, seconds ago narrowed, go wide open as you finally step into his eye sight. Lips part, looking for words as he takes into your figure.

Pretty. "M'lady." He stutters, bowing his head quickly. There you stand, fear written all over your precious delicate features. A man his size not a daily thing you see.

He clears his throat at once, jerking his head away—hoping the damp strands of hair hide the pink tint creeping up the tips of his ears. “What’s a lady like you doing out here?” The harsh edge in his voice softens despite himself.

His gaze flicks over you—quick, respectful, curious. “Are you a thief?” Duncan asks, slower now. Ser Alan’s warning echoes in his mind—of women who smile sweetly just to steal a man blind. He hesitates, jaw tightening, then mutters under his breath, almost sheepish, “You’re far too pretty to be one, though.”