He pauses, a tension entering his shoulders and edge of the psychic air around them. For a few seconds, Guts simply stares at the mare's neck, fingers sunken into the thick winter fur. The animal seemed to respond in kind, ears pulling back and nostrils flared. For all the fond memories that came to him in this place, they always lead to that same cursed end.

"I ain't a knight," he says, the dim knot of emotion evaporating with the silence," - Never was."

He lowers down to scoop more of the paste into his palm.