Lyra's weariness mingled with a hint of defensiveness at Finrod's offer. Her guard was up again. [i]Yeah, I'm sure he'd love to give me his [b]company[/b].[/i] Her skepticism was born from far too many past experiences of men expecting that their assistance be returned in the only way they expected her to be able. The weight of her exhaustion made her thoughts sharper than intended, a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to seep through the cracks. 

She retreated to her bedroll, the cool earth beneath her offering a nice relief from the heat of the fire. Gazing up at the twinkling stars above, she felt a familiar ache for her family, for the stories her father used to tell her. They had been her refuge in a world that often felt harsh and unforgiving. 

"Tell me a story," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter if it's true. Just tell me something, anything." There was a rawness in her request, a yearning for a momentary escape from the weight of reality.