"I stress that you shouldn't exert yourself, Prince, neither physically nor with that penetrating charm of yours. Do I seem a person that would become candid with another so easily?"

Hunter was at a loss for words, and uttered the nonsensical sounds of one who had been caught off guard and was in such an awkward state. Inevitably, he found himself mumbling a “no" in defeat.

Cadenza seemed to smile bitterly at the reply. "Good," she said, nodding. "That's the impression I should give off. I didn't come here to make friends, Merridale. I only saved you because you're a soldier, and not an entirely spineless one. Think nothing more of it."

The injured commander was compelled to ask what bearing his being a soldier had on the matter, but he could see that Cadenza wouldn't share that information with him. Something in her strong, aloof manner, however, also compelled him to try and get to know the woman better. Often in his experience, when one was as closed off as she was, there was a great, heart-wrenching reason that that person kept cold in their breast, and he admired that self-restraint and fortitude. In the case of Hildegard, he had discovered that the lieutenant had selflessly accepted the position of caretaker in his household after losing his parents in the war, and he put up a firm facade so that his many younger siblings had a stable emotional base. His respect for the man, after learning that intimate secret, had soared to heights he once thought hardly imaginable.

And so, at Cadenza's dismissive words, he forced himself onto his feet and grabbed the woman, spinning her around to look her straight in the eyes as he suppressed cries of pain. Then he said, with a great seriousness and sincerity, "Lady Madrigal, you have my deepest thanks, no matter what your motives were. And I hope that someday, I shall prove myself worthy enough to have you share with me thy reasons."

"Worthy?" Cadenza repeated, the incredulous tone of her voice belying the emotionless mask she had been wearing. She shook the man off, and averted her gaze from his face, her own expression looking distinctly downcast. "You're high above my level in virtue or righteousness, Prince. You have no idea just how high, really."

Hunter tried to nudge the woman's chin back up to meet his gaze, but met much resistance. "Why won't thou look me in the eye? Do my wounds offend?"

The question was met with a stifled grimace from the gypsy. Wounds on that face do--in a way that you wouldn't understand. It's...it's like seeing cuts and bruises on his face. And that I cannot take.

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OoC: That was one of the most uninspired posts ever. To anyone who bothered to read that, I apologize profusely.

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[A timid shapeshifter with an unexpected, inner wolf "side".]
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