The Horse's State
Mikhailis glanced at Cerys as she sat by the small fire, focused on cutting herbs they had gathered earlier. The morning air was still crisp, the mist hovering around them as the sun slowly began its ascent. They had decided to cook the Vyrechick they had caught, and the atmosphere was relaxed, filled with quiet sounds of nature, crackling fire, and their occasional chatter.
"Careful there, Cerys," Mikhailis said, leaning over to see her attempt at chopping the herbs. He noticed her hands shaking just a bit, perhaps due to her unfamiliarity with the process or the lingering tiredness from the day before.
She huffed, her brow furrowing, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.
"I'm trying. It's harder than swinging a sword."
Mikhailis chuckled, moving to sit behind her. He placed his hands gently over hers, guiding her grip on the knife.
"Here," he said softly, leaning in close enough that his cheek almost touched her red hair.