Lyra
"You sure act like one."
I felt a spark of irritation then, and I tried to turn to face her, to give her a piece of my mind. But she caught my arm, her fingers tight around my wrist, and she pressed her mouth to my ear, her voice a whisper. "You're cold, Lyra, and you're tired. I can smell it on you. You're scared, and you're lonely, and you're mad as hell." She leaned back a little then, but kept her hand on my arm. "And you know what? That's okay. That's all okay. You don't have to hide it."
The horse whinnied then, and Odile glanced at it, a small smile playing on her lips. "He's agreeing with me. And you know why? Because you're talking to him, and he can hear it in your voice. He knows you're not a threat."
I felt my face flush, and I knew Odile could see it. She squeezed my arm gently, then dropped her hand. "See?" she said softly. "He's calming down. You're calming down, too. You're doing great."
The horse's calm under my hands now, the lead steady in my grasp. I turned my head slightly, my lips brushing Odile's hair as I asked quietly, "So where's Odile from?"
Her hands went still on the horse then. For a few seconds, she was just gone - looking off past the treeline, somewhere else entirely. The easy chatter dried up, and she was quiet.
It was the first thing about her that hadn't come easily. When she finally spoke, it was vague, quiet, and it cost her something. "Somewhere cold," she said. "Up and away. We didn't stay long anywhere."
I could feel the tension in her, the struggle not to give too much away. And I knew the shape of a person closing a door. I knew because I did it myself, all the time.
I pressed just a little, careful, not mocking. "Somewhere. You had to be from somewhere."
She gave a small, crooked shrug, a half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Somewhere," she echoed, and I knew it was the end of it. The lightness had thinned out of her, and I knew better than to push further.

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