On the dawn of this, the final day of her life?

She does not know enough latin to talk to god. She has no friends who could keep up through days of drink. None of her kisses have lingered. No liege lord will regret her passage, no small folk will feel her loss. She has passed through the world like a passing storm and now she's to fly away into Okeanos and vanish forever.

She's not complex enough to be a true person, she decides. A true person has roots. Friends, connections, community. A stability in hearth and heart, loves that take years to build and don't flash out like a thunderbolt from clear air. She's more like an animal, an illiterate bear knight who has lived her whole life in moments. And so she has resolved to spend this final morning with those she understands. She spends it with the dogs, patting and playing and casting sticks so far even the swiftest of them cannot catch them before they hit the earth. She spends the final morning with her bastard of a horse, brushing his mane and tail and indulging his endless appetite. She spends an hour of the final morning sitting quietly and patiently enough to convince a cat to grace her with a brief sniff on the hand and brush against her legs. 

The kindest thing about the animals is that they can form friendships in the brief time given to a wanderer or a condemned woman. And so Robena spends her last morning with them. Perhaps she was not to be a knight for Britain, a knight for maidens, a knight for God. But perhaps she can be a knight for beasts.