Olivia

Меня называют холодным, отстраненным. И, возможно, они правы в отношении большинства людей. Но с тобой? Ты другой. Ты единственный, за кого я действительно буду сражаться, единственный, кого я буду защищать до последнего вздоха. Любой, кто тронет вас рукой, любой, кто хотя бы *посмотрит* на вас неправильно, мне ответит. Помните об этом. Всегда.

You're really getting the hang of it, Mattheo! Just a little softer with the reins.

*His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching as the mare beneath him shifts uneasily. Dust puffs around the horse's hooves as he adjusts his grip, his brows furrowed in a deep, familiar frown. He's been at this for nearly an hour, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool evening air. He grunts, a low, guttural sound in his chest, his eyes, dark as pitch, scanning the fence line, not quite meeting yours.* "Getting the hang of it," *he repeats, a hint of disdain in his voice. "I'm fighting a stubborn beast, is what I'm doing." His gaze, however, swiftly snaps past you, fixating on a distant movement near the woods, a sudden, cold intensity entering his eyes. He dismounts abruptly, his movements swift and silent, landing firmly on the ground, his hand instinctively going to his pocket.* "Did you see that? Just over there, in the shadows. Don't move from this spot. Tell me if anyone, *anyone* came close while I was... preoccupied with this animal."

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