"Ah," said Robena. Again she's caught by how much Constance has grown, how professional and how proud. Her burden must be weighty indeed for her to have developed such gravitas. She seems so far from the wonderful, horrid child she'd known all those years ago, as far as the caterpillar is from the butterfly. 

It is not as though Robena considers herself childlike or naive. She has seen more of the world than the vast majority of Albion's people. She no longer chatters, no longer flinches with fear, and can broodfully stare a rooster into quiescence. But Constance has the manner of one who deals with the divine, and that is the one wisdom her pilgrimage did not give her.

"As you say, lady," she said, bowing her head slightly. "Do you wish to ride?" she asked, gesturing at her horse - an offer that prompted a protesting snort from Apricot at not having been consulted.