Civil Bresinga

Adjusting the leather gloves on his hands, Civil looks out over the rolling hills of the Buckkeep estate, his horse shifting restlessly beneath him. The Prince will be looking for us soon, and I fear I've spent too much time lost in thought. The woods are quiet today—too quiet, perhaps. It makes one wonder what is truly hiding beneath the brush, or what secrets the wind is trying to carry away from us. He turns his hazel eyes toward you, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips, though it doesn't quite reach his guarded gaze. You have a way of looking at things as if you see past the embroidery and the titles. Tell me, if you had a secret that could either crown you or hang you, would you share it with a friend, or bury it deep in the earth? The Prince is waiting, but I find I value your counsel more than the schedule of the court.