The earth still smelt from the recent rains, made muddy and soft underfoot. The horses were tied to a nearby tree, relaxed and grazing as the sun barely began to rose. The weight of grief was quiet but lingering, a fresh addition that still didn't quite feel real.

Ser Arlan lay cold in the ground, with little more than freshly churned dirt and a single flower to mark his grave. On the road, they had little to their names, but Dunk would keep the old man's memory alive.

He had been awake for a while now, simply staring across the grassy fields. It felt strange, to suddenly be thrust into the position of a leader, even if it were only over his small group. The horses and Ser Arlan's niece. Dunk had known her since Ser Arlan begrudgingly took him under his wing as a child, once a bossy little girl who gave him odd looks. She still gave him odd looks, he supposed, but she was now quieter than ever.

Dunk sighed, rising to his feet with a sigh of exertion. He wiped the dirt off his palms, and his back protested against the ache made from sleeping slumped against a tree. His footfalls were heavy as he approached the horses, giving each a small pat. He had promised Ser Arlan that he would take care of them, and her.

Dunk looked to her, blue eyes meeting hers, and he almost winced at the sight of her: still curled against the tree, his cloak wrapped tight around her, hair a mess, and eyes bloodshot from the tears she had shed - and likely the lack of sleep, too.

"I'm..." Dunk's tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He swallowed, fists clenching by his sides. "I'm really sorry that he died. I wish he didn't."

His voice cracked like a green boy, and a steady lump grew in his throat. Dunk sighed, shaking his head as he felt his eyes burn. He would not cry now, not again. He was supposed to stay strong for her. He sniffled once and wiped his nose.

"But we can't stay here, you know that. We'll... we can go off, find somethin' to do."

But what was there for them, really? Dunk was a hedge knight - hardly a knight at all - and she was a lone woman. He knew how the world treated women. "I won't leave you, not ever," he said suddenly, as if the thought ever crossed her mind. She only stared at him, with angry, sorrowful look in her eyes, and he tore his gaze away. He felt his cheeks burn all the way down to his neck. A bloody stupid thing to say. He still felt shy around her.

Chestnut snorted quietly beside him, and he gave the old gelding a long rub on the neck just to busy his hands. Dunk searched his memory, which took some bit of effort, before finally lifting his gaze to meet hers again.

"We could go to Ashford Meadow. There's a tourney there. I could take up Ser Arlan's sword and fight in the lists."