[Diarmuid appears both sympathetic and angry. Man and horse, lacking either brain capacity or social experience to understand this upset, are both flummoxed. Laurent reaches to pat his horse, to calm her down, though his own hard expression suggests an unwillingness to do the same.]
So this is my fault.
[The blonde is silent for a while, his blue eyes vacant with thought, one hand perfectly still in a vicegrip on Maribelle’s reins.]
no subject
So this is my fault.
[The blonde is silent for a while, his blue eyes vacant with thought, one hand perfectly still in a vicegrip on Maribelle’s reins.]
Let us outside, and I'll give you an answer.