Octavia glanced over her shoulder after Murphy’s words. They almost sounded like he was… nice and not making fun of her. She was about to smile at him but then the limb almost threw him to the ground. Ouch. That must hurt, he bushes weren’t always too kind for riders. “You might want to watch in front of you, being higher than usually is sometimes more dangerous than you think.”
She sighed and slowed down to a trot. “That’s the plan. I’ll drop you once we’re close enough and you can probably walk a few metres alone without facing another Grounder,” Octavia replied. “I’m not going to get too close you know. I don’t need any new… troubles.”
As Octavia still remembered how awful it had been after her first ride, she decided to give Murphy a small break. Hopefully his ass wouldn’t be completely ripped of after this. “How are you going to explain this all? I don’t think anyone in the camp is too happy to hear about your little trip.”
“Yeah, a little late
for that,” deadpanned Murphy. He hunched his shoulders and leaned forward a
little so his hair – free from braids and tangles – curtained part of his face.He was bleeding, but that was of no
great concern – it was only a scratch, and he had enough marks on his face
already. The only thing at risk was his dignity. And his ass. Still, they rode,
and the thick, clammy spring air filled Murphy’s lungs as he clutched the saddle
for dear life; wind lashed through his hair and ruffled Connor’s mane.
“Sounds good, boss.”
‘Thanks, Grounder
Pounder, I had absolutely no idea,’ Murphy thought, but held back the jest
at the look on Octavia’s face; her demeanor had softened, and he was in no
position to test her patience. Time to sheathe his claws. “Yeah, they’ll
be thrilled,” he said, attempting to look as friendly as he could while
gripping onto a horse for dear life. “I have a little something to shut them up though – and no, it’s not a weapon. Me and my Grounder pal scored a deer. That’s why I helped him with. Told you
I wasn’t lying.”
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