The group seemed to have reached enough of an impasse that they would at least travel until the point became important to discuss. Horses were brought out. Alice like many of her peers had been raised to ride horses, though the kind she was used to were of a different breed altogether. The ones brought forth before the group were a much stronger and more graceful type than any seen in Vrettonnia, being the size and build of the Andred brute-like war horses akin to the one Jezebeth had pulled herself onto and yet they still reminder her of the magically bred royal beasts that several families were famed for in her homeland, the kind of show beasts that danced their way wherever they went. Typical of elves, however, the horses were free to a fault, they bore no riding gear which would make holding on an annoyance and riding side-straddle an impossibility. 

Alice sighed, there was no reason for a lady like her halfway across the world to ride side-saddle but habit was a hard thing to weed out. Jezebeth straddled her own beast and put her helmet on, an example to all of them. Golden curls and beautiful face disappearing beneath hard steel. Her last signs of weakness disappeared with it, the shattered woman who the group had been presented with seemed a far cry from the one here and Alice felt inspired.

She wondered if she could ever have been like Jezebeth, had she been born in Andred. An emotion she hadn't felt before bloomed in her chest, like when one looks upon an idol and strives to be like them. Such thinking was merely childish fantasy, though. A second glance let her take real stock of the situation, they were cut of entirely different cloth. Jezebeth had been raised from birth on virtue and valour, that social class was to be earned and not inherited or seized. When Jezebeth came of age it was probably in glory, celebrations were likely a part of her ascension to knighthood. When Alice came of age she was cast out of her system, and travelled ever since. It was the best thing that had happened to her, she knew, but it was a key defining feature that made her realise she would never be like the apparent demi-god before her. It would be easy to become bitter about such a thing, but bitterness was what ruled the Vrettonnian courts and Alice had left all that behind years ago. Maybe she felt a bit of remorse, but she knew that would go away in time

Alice turned to Geradin, who looked distastefully at the typically human mounts. She knew he would probably prefer some form of mountain goat, gods know why. She'd ridden them before, and they were awful. For one they smelt and were extremely greasy, many dwarves thinking it a waste of time to wash themselves, let alone their mounts. Not only that, but since mountains are vertical, more often than not the rider has to grasp deep into the fur of the beast or risk falling off meaning it can take weeks of cleaning for the stench to come out. In the end she'd sold that riding outfit off to a pawnbroker, though she wished she'd bought something in it's stead now.

She gave Geradin a leg up onto his horse, knowing that without some sort of encouragement they'd be here all day waiting for him.

She sighed again, conscious of the fact she was doing that too often and clambered her way up onto her own allocated beasts back. A midnight black horse, as stoic in the face of company as she liked to think herself was. She took it slow, as to remain composed and feeling her inner self judge every movement against the impossible to reach bar of Jezebeth. Lacking reigns Alice interlaced her fingers with the beasts mane, which seemed the complete opposite of the mountain goats she had in mind earlier. She said in Elvish as a test, [color=royalblue]"Right,"[/color] and the beast turned. It made sense that without reigns the only way to control the horse would be with words. Now if only she could remember what the word for left was...

[@POOHEAD189][@Fetzen][@BCTheEntity][@Banana][@Darkraven]