"Come riding with me?"

The scribbling of his quill against parhcment slows for a moment, but presently recovers. This is a refusal - Malon leans her head against his leg and sighs. He suffers to pat her absently on the head.

She's grown spoiled and daring; two years as the reigning queen have withered away her muscles and dulled her distrust. From her perch, Zelda curls her hands into tight fists and curses the stupid girl. She watches them as long as she dares and leaps nimbly from the ledge and slides unnoticed into the shadows.

Perhaps she should thank the farmer's daughter for oocupying him, but Zelda is feeling cruel and dismisses the thought with a snort. Malon doesn't deserve that much recognition.