[She watched him drop to his knees with a frown on her face, the wrinkle of it carved deep between her brows. It did not fade when he tipped forward onto his hands and moved toward her. It was too easy to remember that movement, the way it had (in the past) been across furs and blankets instead of the grass. It was too easy to recall how the skin moved over the muscles of his shoulders, and no. This was not why she had come. It was not why she had given him her location.]
You act like a fool. Have more respect for yourself. Or at least for your wife and sons. [Her voice was rough and angry, and she was on her feet before he could nudge her more than the once. Standing, it was easy to see that she was prepared for battle. Dressed in her armor, hair braided back from her face, chainmail shirt finely woven, and sword still strapped at her hip, though sitting on the ground had required her to take care with the angle of it. It was not the only weapon on her body, simply the most visible. Her shield remained propped against the horse's saddle that sat on the ground at the end of the bedroll, waiting for her to decide that she was finally ready to leave. Standing, it was easier to see that she held none of the roundness of carrying a child, was slim and strong as any shieldmaiden, a weapon herself again.]