Barbrey stood by the stables at Grailheart, watching the horses being led in from the fields. Her eyes wandered over the horizon, the distant sound of hooves signaling the approach of a rider. She smiled to herself, recognizing the tall figure atop the horse as none other than Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell. One she didnt have had the pleasure of speaking to personally while he was a ward at lord Dustin.

He guided his horse to a stop before the stables, dismounting with a fluid motion. His face was flushed from the ride, his dark hair falling in waves, and Barbrey couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight caught his features.

“Lord Stark,” she greeted, her voice smooth with a playful lilt as she approached him. “I wasn’t expecting such a noble rider today. It seems the Rills are graced by Winterfell’s finest.”

He turned, a bit startled, but he quickly masked it with a grin. “Lady Ryswell,” he said, his voice warm. “I was just stopping for a quick break. The Rills make a fine place to stretch a horse’s legs and escaping from boring lectures..”

Barbrey took a step closer, her gaze never leaving his. “I’d say the Rills are an even finer place to stretch one’s own legs, but I’m sure you’d prefer the saddle to the grass.”

She met his eyes with a flirtatious smile, leaning against a nearby post as she watched him closely. “Perhaps you’ll allow me the honor of showing you around my father's lands? Im quite the rider as well.” she asked, her tone light but laden with meaning.