The Frontline - Part 1

"How much further?" Blackthorn asked, startling Oliver out of his revelry. She asked it with the same cadence that she always did. There was hardly an emotion there.

"Lombard warned that it would likely be another few days," Oliver told her. "If you're sore in the saddle, you should go back to the carriage. I'm sure Pauline and Amelia would enjoy your company."

Blackthorn wrinkled her nose. "I don't like carriages," she said simply.

It was as honest and as straightforward as Blackthorn always was. It made Oliver study her more intensely than he normally would, if only out of the corner of his eye. He wondered, 'is she really not nervous?' When it came to Blackthorn, it was hard to be sure. At times, she would be as emotionless as a clamshell, and other times, she would display a passionate intensity rivalling that of her father.

"How are the men?" Oliver decided to ask, changing the conversation.