Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

[rassafraggin]

Maggie's attention flickers to her husband as he startles and nearly takes a misstep with his mount. From there, she follows his gaze and the tug of movement to the doorway. The frown that was hovering near her lips just waiting to land fades away and she sits for a moment in surprise as she takes in the young woman framed there. Coming back to herself, she scrambles to dismount once more, hand retaining the reins even as she sort of jumps free. "Miss Kirkman!" The nugget of knowledge about the woman's marriage filters upward and she half smiles, "Well. Missus." Something. Mrs... Can't recall having heard the name, and it isn't what one might call a friend anyway, right? Which, she realizes belatedly, does not sound much like a greeting one would use with a friend so she amends it, "Laurenna! It is so good to see you." The sincerity in her tone is echoed in her eyes despite the slight awkwardness of the moment. For her anyway. The smile gentles as she turns toward the ranch hands to get their verdict. Can they withstand the force of two women asking so nicely? "Please, gentlemen? It would be a kindness."

Merrisol is stuck in the act of mounting or perhaps dismounting, until his mind manages to process the shock of seeing his systems engineer standing there. Not the crewmate he'd been expecting, clearly, and here she was, and has been for who knows how long. Long enough to catch their arrival and monitor the tense exchange through the front window, at least. She didn't show herself right away, then. That bodes ill for any hope he'd had of getting her to rejoin. As for her statement placing Sara somewhere nearby? He believes that.. which makes the situation and her motives that much more complicated. While Maggie steps forward from her horse once more to work her charm alongside Laurenna's, Kerf separates himself from his steed, frowning, and turns for the house again, this time reaching up to lift off his hat.

Bozley watches him coolly while Amos glances between the two ladies, looking some blend of chagrined and consternated, himself. "Well. Well. Well, it's as you say, Mrs. Bergmin, ma'am. They're your guests," he manages, and then to Maggie and, peripherally Merri, he mutters, "Excuse my manners, will ya. I spoke outta turn."

"Not at all, Amos," insists Laurenna, a touch impatiently. She gazes hopefully at Amos, then Bozley, and then looks relieved when the older ranch hand reaches up and claps his hand on Amos's shoulder.

"C'mon Aim, best we see about matching up the heifers to the calves again." The sulky lad is led off down the porch steps and across the yard to the gate, scattering some straggling flocks in the falling light.

Laurenna closes the door behind her, then wrings her hands quietly until the workmen are on their way, then gestures Maggie and Merri closer to the porch, coming to stand on the middle step. "So terribly sorry," she reiterates. "It's just some breaks to the fence that needed inspection. Some cattle escaped.. or.. maybe it's strange cattle that came in. It is a little confusing, but I gather not all that unusual an occurrence." She emits a short apologetic laugh, then sighs. "How are you, Captain? Mr. Morfilod, rather." Her gaze darts. "Maggie... it's... lovely to see you again as well. How are you?"

Maggie keeps her mare's reins looped about her hand while the decision is made. She smiles after the ranch hands to show that there is no hard feelings but she does not speak again until they are off on their way. She takes her cue more by the chickens, listening for their disturbed fluttering and sqwacking to turn back to contented clucking. Her free hand lifts to push her own hat off when she notices Kerf doing the same. It is a brief gesture and the hat swings down to settle against her upper back, trapping her hair between it and her back. "That sounds annoying. I hope that it isn't too difficult to remedy? Um... I am fine, thank you." She moves to the hitching post, looping the reins around the upper bar but leaving room for Kerf's if he wishes to join her. Ducking under the bar, she moves closer to the stairs. "I don't want to pry, but those gentlemen seemed inordinately tense." Liltingly, the tone lifts toward a question, left to languish or be answered at Laurenna's discretion.

Laurenna blinks and mostly watches Maggie while the mare is tethered, sparing a few seconds to search her former employer's features. She looks back at Maggie with a small sigh, then nods to the lilting statement. "Yes, I'm afraid they are feeling sore and defensive.. oh, not about you, not anymore at any rate. They thought you were more of the Pringles coming to make demands.. I suppose it's a matter for the cattle courts. Did either of you know there is a special law sub-department in university now, for the express purpose of learning to practice agricultural law? That includes husbandry operations..." At that, she turns a shade darker and trails off.

Merrisol attends it all quietly from where he stands a few feet from the porch steps. The news about the mood on the homestead is all well and good, but he has a point of curiosity himself, which he airs at the first break in the conversation: "..But.. what are *you* doing here, Mrs. Kirkman?" His horse is still standing where he left it, shifting weight occasionally between its shod hooves, and shaking its mane to throw off some noseeums. Otherwise, calm and patient.

"Oh!" Laurenna opens her mouth, working the response out haltingly, "I'm visiting... that's all! Oswalt.. Mr. Bergmin didn't come with, if that's what... well, I mean, he has his position at the workshop to keep him busy, you see. So..... you're only just here to find Sara, then," she says in a smaller voice.

The mounting awkward of the moment is interrupted then by the sound of jogging horses. Through the orange dusk, two mounted figures are approaching the yard from a trail that leads between the barns. The sight of the two strange steeds and their dismounted riders causes them to adjust their pacing to a more circumspect arrival.

Maggie moves to stand closer to Laurenna, her expression holding curiosity and faint hints of consternation. Turning her head just a little, she narrows her eyes in the general direction of the large, flashy sign that they spotted out on the trail. "The Pringles..." Something is up here, and it is as dusty as can be. But, there is not much that they can do about it. Not without more information than they have at any rate.

Turning back as Merrisol addresses the engineer, Maggie watches the expressions flit over the other woman's face, listening to the shifting in her voice. She steps forward a hair, "Here? At this ranch? Yes. But, here as in Begma? No. We did not expect to find you here too, you see. We expected to find you in Begma City." Though she almost itches to ask about the aforementioned Oswalt Bergmin, she does not. That topic is apparently too awkward for out-in-the-open conversation.

Further explanation of their purpose and schedule, along with whatever reassurances are needed are broken off by the sound of hoofbeats approaching. Maggie pauses, sympathy and warmth remaining as she turns her attention to the two riders.

Sara Cristholm's blonde hair still has those bolts of white running through the length in spots, but the prairie sun has lightened the colour and made it less noticeable, wrapping into the long braid between her shoulders rather than swirled into a practical bun. Her steely grey eyes are just as sharp, now sparking out from a tanned visage. Her spare mouth is leveled in a neutral frown at them, without differentiating between either Captain.

Nudging his horse ahead of hers, the man who is presumably her brother Markham Cristholm reins in several feet from the porch, regarding the strangers on his property all the while. Even though his unclipped hair is uniformly yellow in the sunset and lamp light, he seems to be older, deeper shadows in the crag lines around his mouth and eyes. "Here for Sara," he acknowledges having learned that much from his sister as they rode through the side yard. "Not unopposed to offerin' hospitality of the hearth, but I leave the invitation up to her." He promptly rides on past to the stables in the southern corner of the yard.

Laurenna's skirts sway slightly as she fidgets her weight from foot to foot, waiting for Sara to ride abreast of the porch at least before she speaks. "Here we all are now! Isn't this the most surprising development, Sara?" Then she blinks at the look her former crewmate sends her way. "Not that.. I had something to do with it! As I did not!"

"She didn't, Ms. Cristholm." Merrisol faces his navigator with hat in hand and his steady gaze finding hers when she looks back to him. Though he doesn't smile, his eyes are intent and searching, the request for her time made so clearly as to not be a request at all.

Maggie smiles at Laurenna, leaving the hint in her former words unclarified and unspecified. Turning, she rests one hand on her mare's nose, though the kindly beast only twitches her ears back, then forth again as her tail chases some evening flies from her flank. Watching Sara and the man who must be Markham ride up, she inclines her head politely to each. The fading light tickles glimmers from her hair and dances on the polished tack near her hand. Easing around to where her vision of them, and thus theirs of her, is not obstructed by the horse's arching neck, she nods in support of both Laurenna and Merrisol's assertions. Mr. Cristholm is given a quick smile of thanks, though he might not see it as he heads toward the stables. However, the light in her eyes fades toward an awkward uncertainty when she looks at Ms. Cristholm's stern expression and her beloved husband's searching intensity. Pressing her lips together for a moment, she restrains her natural exuberance in the hope that she avoids a faux pas. Instead, she turns an equally searching, hopeful look to the former navigator.

Laurenna takes a cue from Maggie and makes a visible effort to quell her next outburst as well, lips pressing into a neat line. The tableau of commander and navigator makes for some fascinating viewing for a few long seconds waiting for Ms. Cristholm to make the next move. Presently though, the erstwhile systems engineer peeks sidelong at Maggie, examining her outfit and sunset curls in a studious up-down glance.

Sara's gaze does not search, but it gathers what is offered from the Captains, moving briefly to Flame then returning to Merrisol, now considering the demand inherent in his gaze. She dismounts easily, wearing practical dungarees and a wool jacket over her chambray blouse. A firm pat to her mount's rear flank sets the animal into a walk, following the trail to the stables by instinct. Sara stands where she is, removing her riding gloves and then folding her arms over her chest with the stubborn air of setting a stopwatch on her patience.

Merri nods as he recognizes this allowance. He tips a glance over to Laurenna, then settles on Maggie for a moment, assuring her that plans are back on track, despite all the unexpected factors until this point. Taking a few steps forward, he goes to Sara himself stops with just a couple feet of space between them. "The Flare is safe. She is waiting off the coast, away from the capital. The next deep sea mission is imminent; it is one which requires a piloting expertise I have yet to..." The specific words melt into a series of grave syllables that Cristholm alone is close enough to decipher. Chin lifted, she listens with a frown, seeming content to let him talk himself out before deciding on a reply.

Laurenna eyes the beginnings of.. negotiations? while nibbling on her lower lip. In the next moment, she turns and beckons to Maggie shyly and steps back up onto the porch fully. "Would you join me for a minute, Cap.. Mrs. Morfilod? I should like to have a word as well, so long as the others are well-occupied."

Maggie nods to Ms. Cristholm when her gaze settles on her. Whether it is reciprocated or not, Maggie's gaze holds warmth and a delight to see the navigator that is mostly free from the Flare's business. It is good to see her, regardless of the circumstances it seems. When Merrisol steps forward, Maggie fades toward the stairs, then turns to smile at Laurenna. When she is invited to the porch, Maggie flickers a glance to Merrisol and Sara, half wishing that she had the ability to hear what was said... then blushes faintly as she recognizes that prying is really not appropriate. Nodding to Laurenna, she turns and moves with an almost silent grace up and back, accepting the kindness and giving her husband and her... friend? Friend, whether the sentiment is returned or not. Smiling at Laurenna, she tries to keep her focus on the woman, "I am all yours, Mrs. Bergmin." She keeps her voice low to minimize intrusion into the negotiations happening down there. "How can I be of assistance?"

She makes a chagrined noise in her throat at hearing her married name spoken aloud, followed by a startled blush. She flashes another glance to those on the trail past the porch, then beckons again to the woman beside her so they can begin strolling away along the length of the wraparound porch. "Assistance.. there is really no need, Captain," she speaks the big-C title with more comfort than the more intimate surname. "At least, not for myself. I did very much want to be quite certain you were not cross about..." She tilts her head sidelong and taps at the bridge of her nose a couple of times, then narrowly avoids walking into the edge of a wooden bench. "It was a while back now, I'll grant you. But you can still see them, can't you, Captain." She sighs. "Those scars."

Maggie notes the noise made and the chagrine. Putting it together with a similarly strained reaction from before, Maggie studies her friend, a frown tickling between her eyes. However, Laurenna turns the conversation and the two set off together. A mental pin is stuck in the concern, though. She will try to work back to it later. Listening, Maggie walks along with the engineer, her own expression first warming. But as the other woman speaks, Maggie's steps slow and the intensity with which she studies Laurenna grows. A hand lifts to try to provide that offered assistance and keep her friend from running into the bench. Her eyes narrow slightly and her head turns to stare back straight through the house to where Merrisol still, presumably, speaks with Sara. It is a short distraction, for her focus returns, zooming past whatever magnificent vistas the countryside might present on this side of the house. "The scars are still there, yes. But, I fear that I only know the most vague reasons for them." Though her tone is cautious, it is not angry, nor is there the anticipation of the same. "Please?"

A side entrance to the house and a smaller set of porch steps can be found at the end of the walkway stretch, bypassing windows outfitted with both curtains and shutters. Beyond the porch, the side yard contains a cluster of worksheds to shelter various machines taken apart for tinkering. The land slopes away into a tree-lined ditch and the fence enclosing pastureland stretches away south, marking property and what might be an unowned and untamed plot to the east, fallen into the general dimness of encroaching dusk.

"Nigel's Nonesuch.." blinks Laurenna. "That means I must supply you reasons for which to be cross now? Oh, there's nothing for it..." She laughs nervously, encouraged by Maggie's earnest demeanor. "Only you must realize how embarrassed I am by it all. And how very sorry." She comes to a complete halt as she turns to face Maggie with those sentiments. Her blue eyes are wide and her face is already pink from the explanation she must give. "You see, when I returned to Begma, I reconnected with my prior existence, rekindled my interests and friendships and... and even a suitor. There /had/ been two, actually, goodness." She laughs at herself over what sounds like a boast, blushing further, then lifts and waves her hands a bit to get herself to the point: "Competitive with one another, you see, though Oswalt evidently quite outlasted Lerner, as I found upon my return. So, ah, Oswalt.. Mr. Bergmin.. he was present when Captain Merrisol called at the home where my friends and I kept rooms... and asked me to come back to engineer aboard the Solar Flare. And... oh, that was all fine. A surprise, you know, but not a bad one. I was very glad he was himself again. What was I to say, though, right then? And with Oswalt listening in so anxiously..." After that burst of chatter, she trails off pensively, lost in the memory for a moment.

Maggie notes the structures yonder, the machines taken apart or being repaired and the plot of land overgrown with native plants and invasives. But those are of lesser importance. Her focus returns to Laurenna, eyes searching the other woman's expression. A twitch of amusement greets the phrase and it is possible that 'Nigel's Nonesuch' may become 'Nigel's Nonsense' forever in her brain. Because, there it is. The amusement dies as her friend begins in earnest. Maggie nods here, then there, though the notion of two suitors seems far too few for the lovely young woman. She keeps that to herself, though. It is not the time. Something strikes her, then and she tilts her head ever so slightly. Do Begman gentlemen... A blush begins as she realizes that 'of course they do'. But it too fades away as she listens. A hand lifts, though she does not touch the Engineer. The warmth radiating from her fingers is natural, but might seem surprising or suspicious. She drops her hand, "Go on, please." Her tone is gentle and relaxed. So far there is nothing to spark anger. And it was a while back, wasn't it?

Laurenna smiles ruefully over something or other, then returns to the here and now by blinking down at Maggie's dropping hand. Glancing up to spy the roses in Maggie's cheeks, the other woman brightens and begins to nod in commiseration. "Exactly there is where the flow just veered," she gestures to one side. "The arrows went to just the wrong lozenges, so to speak! The Captain, he was very.. well, you know how he is." Her eyes lift to select a word from the air above and thrust it ocularly at her companion: "..Focused. When he said.. 'We're not done'." She pauses over that and shakes her head, dissatisfied, waving a hand to reset. "You know, um. It was more like, -We're Not Done-." She tries her best to deepen her voice and mimic Merri giving every word gravitas. She still can't help laughing in self-conscious mortification afterward, a touch shrilly. "I'm so sorry, Maggie.. I mean, Captain. I'm afraid I just... and poor Oswalt read it all wrong, and got the prototype he was working on at the time. A sonic molecule scrubber, he calls it." Another apology floods out of her as she gets to the worst part. "He only meant to use it to try and frighten the Captain off!"

Maggie blinks, though she returns the smile offered. It warms a bit when Laurenna agrees. "Exactly." So to speak. Sobering, she nods again. She does know how he can be. Beloved and sometimes the cause of mild or great consternation. But that is a thought for another day. Now, she listens, trying to piece it together. Then, all in a moment, she blinks, the blush turning to a flush, "Oh, for goodness sake. Do you mean to tell me that your beau used his gadget, the one intended to... scrub... molecules on my husband and..." A hand lifts and waves back toward where Merrisol and Sara are talking. She continues. "And it ended up... Scarring him? Because he thought that Kerf was coming to take you back as his paramour?" Her hand falls, "Do correct me if I am missing something, please." Her expression? Schooled. Her eyes? Flashing. In anger or mirth? Impossible to say with her lips held just that way.

"Oh, no! No. If he had aimed with the intent of hitting.." Laurenna's complexion tries to blanch, mottles, then comes back redder than before. She decides, "No, let's not think on that. It's an industrial distance tool for sanding metal to a gloss, but... It is a prototype, after all! He hadn't meant to trigger it, I am quite certain. Just the sight of it should have done the trick -- or so Oswalt /thought/ it should." The Engineer pauses to gaze expectantly at Maggie as though the outcome of such a notion must go without saying.

Maggie's hand falls back to her side as the full implications of the accident is explained. Her stomach knots painfully and she stops breathing for a moment. Eyes already wide with interest widen further in shock, "Oh." The sound is soft, almost silent. She can almost see it in her mind's eye. The inventor holding his device... maybe aimed at the door frame. Maybe at the floor. It goes off, sending shards of... metal? Wood? Shrapnel is such a loose term. Vague. She should have pressed for more information, but he seemed both embarrassed and upset. She didn't want to pry. Her complexion fades to white though she does not allow herself to shake. Still, her thoughts continue behind emerald eyes turned brilliant with unpleasant possibilities. A mug of tea and some cinnamon cookies. Feeling like an idiot she blinks, turning to look at Laurenna once more. Again, she can only manage, "Oh," before taking a long, slow breath, "I see." Not knowing the inventor in question, she plans on taking Laurenna's opinion as to his intent to heart. For now. Murderous thoughts based on the man's actual designs on her husband's life are forcefully squashed and placed in her mind's Doom Locker. Maybe she could also use some coffee and cookies. Her lips part, then close again. Another breath and she blinks, looking back, "I see." She manages an off-kilter smile for the engineer, then touches her tongue's tip to lips gone suddenly far too dry. Fear is a funny thing. "So, then? Did Kerf leave? Or...?"

Laurenna gazes curiously at Maggie while the latter's response quiets to various fluctuations of expression rather than words. She frowns uncertainly over whatever mental images might be forming, then looks away into the hazy vague landscape, made dimmer by the proximity of porch lamps. The second 'I see' brings her attention back, and she mulls over the question for a moment before saying simply, "Yes.. of course he left. Mr. Bergmin and I were engaged sometime after that. We've been wed not a month yet." She smiles a bit hollowly while sweeping her gaze about the yard at the various tinkering projects. "So.. there is a mission for the Solar Flare, I gather."

Maggie inhales slowly, then speaks with some caution, "Okay. First. I am not angry with you in the slightest. Kerf misinterpreted the approach to use. He and Mr. Bergmin should probably talk. At some point." Twisting that around, she silently adds an 'or not' that might show in a glance and a smile. It is almost a conspiratorial smile, really. Almost. She notes again a hint of discomfort or unhappiness with her current situation and inhales, "Yes. There is. And, we were wondering... I know that you are a newly wed, but... If you were interested in returning to the crew? We would dearly love to have you with us. He might not want to ask, since he does not want to make things worse between himself and your husband, but it would mean so much to both of us. You are a truly gifted engineer, you know. I hope you know, anyway." She refocuses on Laurenna, searching for... what? Signs of uncertainty, maybe. Softly, she adds, "But, only if it is what you want, okay?"

The scuff of boots on the front porch step can be heard and minutely felt as well. Laurenna darts her gaze to the corner of the house, then turns back to Maggie with her brows lifting up in surprise; either from the idea that there should be further contact between their spouses, or else the opinion that Captain Merrisol was the one at fault in the situation. Then there comes the pitch, and she inclines her head belatedly in realization of it, blinking. She continues to listen in silence, and smiles wanly at the compliment, murmuring a polite, "Thank you, Captain." She seems unfazed but thoughtful, half-smiling over the caveat, as if there was humour in it. She nods to it, then pivots to begin retracing their steps, bench-dodge and all. "I promise I will consider it seriously."

Sara is already gone when they turn the corner, the front door closed behind her so gently it could have easily gone unremarked. Merrisol is standing by Maggie's mare, though he hasn't gotten around to unhitching the reins or even putting his hat back on. He looks around at the tap of heels on the porch, and gazes their way, his grim expression telling the results plain. Ms. Cristholm will not be returning.

Maggie nods, studying the engineer with an intent gaze. Something feels off, but she can't quite put her finger on it. Nodding slowly, she looks up and over her shoulder at the step. Turning, she walks back with Laurenna. Hope rises in her gaze and she can't help a slightly shy smile toward... The smile fades as she takes in the scene. Merrisol there, hat in hand. No Sara. No sign from her beloved that the Navigator-Extraordinaire is getting her things. Inhaling, she holds it for a long moment before releasing it. "Well." Turning to Laurenna, she extends her hand with the intent of a shake at minimum and a squeeze of support and continued hope should the engineer elect to return with them, "Please do not be a stranger in either case. Okay?"

Laurenna's gaze sweeps to and fro between the front door and Merrisol a few times, then settles on her former employer with a look that is a strange hybrid of sympathetic and exasperated. When his glance shifts to her, she turns in a hurry to grasp for Maggie's extended hand. "I will give it a good bit of thought, Captain. I will. But I must go and see after Ms. Cristholm now." As if Sara Cristholm ever needed a shoulder to cry on! The Begman lady pats Maggie's hand lightly with her other before they disengage, then strides a bit stiffly the rest of the way to the door. She gives a quick sidelong nod to Merrisol, "Good evening, and.. Take care, Captain." A glimpse of the gray and white trimming of the lit interior is offered as she goes promptly inside.

Merri makes no attempt to interject, though he watches the exchange as though expecting there to come an inviting pause. But Mrs. Bergmin makes certain that doesn't happen. With the closing of the door a second time, he looks down, studying his hat for a moment while he works through some inner turmoil: Rejection, anger, loss among them. They're not to be resolved in just a moment, but he looks back up anyway and finds Maggie again. "We're done here. We'll catch up with the others and get back to town before dark, if we're lucky."

Maggie watches the interaction between engineer and husband with a deep sense of unease. She smiles for Laurenna when the shake and hand-pat are in progress, but it fades when the young woman darts into the house. It takes her a slow moment to realize that the conversation is at an end. Merrisol's voice pulls her gaze to him and she nods. Stepping down from the porch, she goes to him first. One hand lifts to his arm, a squeeze, gentle and faintly lingering, passes for a hug and promises that hug later. When he wants it. Her gaze slips back to the door again, though there is restraint in her. She wants to try talking to Sara herself, but promised. Heart aching for him and them, for the people within and the crew of the Flare, she pats her husband's arm lightly, gently, then moves to unhitch her mare. There is a faint bitterness in her tone, schooled to resemble remorse, "All right, Beloved. Let's get going." Swinging up into the saddle, she leaves the hat where it is, the half-circle of the brim trying to rise or set behind the horizon of her shoulders. Unsettled. She turns her gaze to him, curious and unwilling to voice her questions here, for fear of inquisitive ears to hear and, maybe even moreso, in fear that someone might decide that their exit is too slow.

His arm is hard with tension, but relaxes somewhat with the touch.. only somewhat. He is carefully in control at the moment, meaning to stay that way at least while they are visitors on someone else's property. Merrisol sets his hat on his head as he walks to his steed, freeing his hands to step up into the saddle as well, after she mounts up. He flashes her a glance, coming out of his thoughts enough to realize she is applying similar self-restraints, and that makes him smile in spite of himself. His horse walks in an aimless circle meanwhile, restive for a new journey, and with a quiet command of 'hyah', he starts their course back the way they'd come, moving from a trot to a canter.

Maggie did sense his tension and the slight release at her touch. Once mounted, she lets the mare walk a little, then waits for Merri to start them off. A glance his way catches his smile and she returns it, muted by circumstance but warm for him. It does not last, fading away when they begin the long road back. A prickle begins in between her shoulderblades, as though someone was watching them, though it might be her imagination. Silence lingers until they pass the gate leading out to the lane. Once there, she almost speaks, drawing in a breath that is then released when she takes note of the sign designating the Pringle's ranch.

Here in the tree-lined lane, the ranch signage appears deceptively close together, like a rural neighbourhood, when in reality most trails diverge outwards in wide angles once embarked, tracing gulfs of pasture and field in between. The entire property of each rancher could not possibly be fully and/or well fenced, although the Pringle operation bears the trappings of financial success. It's simply not practical. Neighbours must reasonably make concessions. If they are agreeable sorts.

The breeze through the foliage casts fluttering sunset shadows across the clearing and the riders moving along it. It fills jacket and coat tails and horse tails too, sending them gently aloft. Merrisol realizes he has been somewhat slumped forward for a while, and straightens up, taking a long, deep breath as he does, senses filled with the grand potential of the horizons opening up ahead as the mounts break free of the lane. Melancholy returns with his exhale, and the endless meadow darkens as though in commiseration. Reining back to a trot and aligning their pace side by side, he turns his head Maggie's way for a long look, wordless but speaking hitherto undiscovered fathoms of pain.

For a time, Maggie lets Merrisol ride ahead, though she watches him the while. The curve of his back, the lowering of his head, the way he seems curled into him self, all speak of emotions roiling through him and sparks an ache in her own heart. For him, yes, but for her part in being unable to prevent this day. The sunlight and shadows dapple the air around them, lending their dancing patterns to horse and rider as well. At some point, Maggie reached back to pull her hat forward again, settling it on the crown of her head and casting a darker shadow over her features though it means that the breeze ruffles her hair more than before. Strands are teased from the rest, lifted and toyed with, then released as others are chosen for the dance. She restrains the urge to go to him, to touch him and wrap him in her love. It is there, but sometimes, people need space to sort out what, if anything, they want to do with their reality. Which, it is true, this seems to be.

The changed tempo of his hooves, then those of her mare, lull her into a few moments of contemplation of her own, gaze straying over the neighborhood. That the Pringle's ranch seems to be entirely and ostentatiously fenced is noted but only in passing. The patchwork markers of other property lines is far more interesting, so she studies the layout for a moment or two more. Her mare nickers a bit when the stallion slows to come together with her and Maggie looks back again. Her eyes meet his and she blinks in shock. The depth and breadth of his pain is a physical blow and she reaches over to touch his arm, sliding down to seek his hand. It is a bit of a reach, but unless he does not wish it, she manages. "Darling. Talk to me?"

As she tips in her saddle to reach for him, his arm comes up instinctively, bridging the distance a bit so she need not struggle. The warmth of her fingers sliding over his triggers a flinch of want, and he turns in the saddle towards her, intent flashing up to overtake the sorrow. "Maggie--" And now he leans sidelong as well, arms extended to catch her under the arm.. and on the hip. He means to haul her bodily from her mare, that much is very clear, though her willingness could keep it from being awkward. The stallion pulls closer still when Merri's weight goes down on one stirrup, and one hand slides beneath her thigh to scoop her from the pillion and transfer her to his. The stables had given up their sturdiest mount and a large saddle to suit, so even after Maggie is added to the passenger list, upon the curve dipping between horn and husband, the palomino merely adjusts to a walk, shaking his mane and looking briefly to one side to see his companion falling into step behind. For now, he has set her down sideways, both legs supported across his thigh, while he seeks from the rest of her an embrace, close and solid and real. The maneuver likely knocked her hat back again, and so a harsh exhale ruffles across her hairline as he lays his cheek upon her crown of curls. "I.. don't. This isn't happening, Only." His deep voice shudders tightly, trying to be steady. "Whatever happened while they were all still together in the Solar Flare.. and I wasn't.. but Ms. Cris-, she knows, Maggie, not just about the Queen. She said it doesn't matter that I am back as I am, as I was, to stay. Because she doesn't believe I ever was who I claimed to be. Then, or now."

The tingle that races from his skin up her arm when the contact is made with his help flickers a soft flame of answering want in her. Her eyes widen as she hears her name, sees his intent and misinterpreting it just a bit. Her arm lifts when he reaches for her, hand sliding up toward his shoulder. She gently kicks free of the stirrup on the opposite side, lifting her leg over the mare's side. Turning to give him as much help as she can, she frees her other foot as he lifts her. Working with him and her own momentum she is settled into his lap, hat fallen behind her and hair floating in the breeze. Her hand drops to loop the ends of her reins around the horn of his saddle. They are long enough to give the mare enough room to comfortably follow along with the stallion. Her newly freed hand moves up to encircle her husband as a hug, long and hopefully comforting is given and received. Sitting against him, she recognizes the tremble that shivers through her hair and body at the feeling of his breath on her skin and hushes that impulse to listen without the distractions of her physical reaction to him. As much as she is able to, at any rate. What she hears sends cold fingers of failure rising from her belly up through her soul. Her hands tighten against him, holding him closer, then ease. Keeping her voice low, she murmurs softly, "A lot happened, Beloved. But... Are you saying that she knows about..." She closes her eyes, kicking herself for a very old promise that makes some topics more awkward than they need to be. "About... Lady Petra's youngest?" What a dumb way to say 'Sorrensen'. Really Maggie, hasn't he been through enough? The oblique guess is the best that she can do, but it does answer the questions of identity and what else Ms. Cristholm might know. "Oh, love." What else can she say? Sara Cristholm is one for upfront honesty, though the truth might have sent her packing long ago.

"You can say his name, darling, as can I, now," he says, after a moment's thoughtful pause over her phrasing. His arms around her stay snug though they adjust to her movements. His hands travel a bit more, as though searching the dips and curves of her figure for the optimal positioning; the soothing wonder of rediscovery is a bonus. He brushes a kiss to her forehead, lips shaping a frown while there. "It hardly matters anymore. Either or both. Sorensen. Lirre. We both know as much about them now as is possible to know. Though perhaps you know more than I. You've been able to meet them, in a sense." His gaze watches nothing except the rumple of her hair that lifts occasionally into his line of sight when the breeze kicks up. "What Ms. Cristholm knows for fact, I do not know. When she and the others signed on, at the time I imparted to them as uncluttered a form of truth as I could: That the son of Hugo Fflere, the creator of the Solar Flare, and the pirate wanted for allegedly stealing it, were one and the same man... That was something they could wrap their heads around. Complicated, sticky, socially awkward, yet sane. What they have learned since has taken that truth and stretched it beyond sensibility. When she asked me, point blank, who am I really... I knew, Maggie, what she wanted to know was, /what/ am I."

The light slowly turns toward a brilliant gold, edged with the silver of impending moonlight and lying over a subtle, if dark purple. Back along the horizon toward town, clouds turn orange, red and misty pink where the deepening blue of dusk strains toward the black of night. Every leaf and twig, every branch, thorn, twisted wire and fence post is gilded with that nearly magical light. Stones and mounded earth stand out in sharp relief. It is that time in the desert where the world seems far more real, more Amber-like, than it has any right to be. It is a lovely time and Maggie would enjoy it, were she able to sink into the sensuous warmth of her Kerf's explorations. Her own hands shift on his shoulders, gliding down toward his arms, then back up again. One hand trails up along the back of his neck so her fingers can lose themselves in those wheat gold locks. However, as Merrisol speaks, his voice refocusing her attention away from the very pleasurable sensations his touch inspires and she listens with care and attention once more. Memories flit behind her eyes, anguish replacing the warmth of wanting him. An image of Moiresol floats to the surface, reflected in her mind's eye. She hears again the woman within Merrisol's beloved body telling her that she had told Ms. Cristholm who she was in that time of need. She feels again echoes of an unfulfilled resolve to speak to the navigator. That failure to do so haunts her anew, "Oh, no." Her inability to follow through is clearly a contributing factor to this mess and that realization chills her heart and her skin. But his last, Ms. Cristholm's unlikely and yet utterly understandable comprehension that stills her in indecision for it brings to mind a private conversation with Celeste. A secret kept from Moire, perhaps unjustly. Kept from Merrisol simply because she did not know how to broach the subject. "What did you tell her, Beloved?" Is now the time to come clean and fill him in on Celeste's report about him? She holds that secret, but it is not really hers to hold so she carefully prepares to relinquish it to its rightful owner.

His eyelids drift to half-mast, then drop closed, when her fingertips wander up into his hair. The tension in his frame has been uncoiling slowly, and now his next sigh is slow and low. "I could see where it was going... mostly. If I had said 'made, not born', we'd either be wading into some deep sorcery, which is bad, or hitting one of the Unbreakable Laws of Begma, which is probably worse. I couldn't take us down either path, love. So I said nothing. And then she said goodbye." He glances around the gilded landscape for a few seconds, then leans back slightly in the saddle to be able to look at his wife and meet her gaze if he can. He starts to say something more, then subsides to contemplate her expression. "..What happened on your end of things, love?" he then thinks to ask.

Maggie loves it when his body responds to her touch. It sings within her being like the touch of electricity, bright and pure. Even when the reaction is not sexual, it is sensual for her. She can feel his muscles relaxing beneath her touch and it brings a faint smile to her lips. That fades as she listens, however. Her breathing is stilled for an instant as options rise and fall, cross and fade away. What she is left with is a pale shadow, an echo of his own pain. "I am so sorry, my heart. If... it comes up again, I will stand with you whatever choice you make." Another, maybe longer silence as she debates how to begin her own rendition of the conversation she had with Mrs. Bergman. Her sense of uncertainty, of a missed step or an opportunity lost is compounded now by the results of his conversation with Ms. Cristholm. But there is nothing for it but to jump in, "I don't think that Laurenna is happy, Beloved. In her marriage, I mean. She... Always kind of flinches and deflects when her husband is mentioned. Maybe it is a Begman way, but I don't think so. And she seemed so sad when she thought that we were only here to talk to Sara. Though..." Shaking her head, she leaves that thought behind for the moment. Instead, she continues, "When she took me around the side of the house to talk to me, she thought that I would be angry with her husband. At first, I did not know why." Taking a softer breath, her focus settles on him more surely. Her eyes, filled with the first hints of trouble roiling within, "She told me what happened between you and Mr. Bergman and when I realized that he... probably tried to kill you, my mind went blank. I remember when you came home with cuts, my Heart. You said that you were hit by shrapnel and I let it go. I figured that, if you wanted me to know the details, we would talk about it. I feel as though I should have pressed for an explanation then. But you seemed so angry... that I did not want to cause you more pain." A huffed exhalation and she shakes her head, "I should have asked. I am sorry." Lowering her gaze, she half shrugs, "It might have prepared me... When she told me, I fear that I wanted to go straight to him... I wanted to confront him. I still do in a way." As she speaks, her body grows more and more tense, winding to a tight coil of offended intensity that is echoed in her voice, "But I don't want to hurt him. Not... really. I was surprised at how shocked I was, not only in what he did but in my own stillness. As for Laurenna? I don't think that she is entirely convinced that it was an accident and that concerns me." Shaking her head a little, she frowns, "And I am not sure how much of that is my business. But... In any case, I tried to reassure her that misunderstandings happen. She said that you said that 'We are not done' and I tried to tell her that I understood how that could be misconstrued. But the thought was unfinished as I fell back into a mental stillness thinking about what he did to you. She gave me the strangest look and I am afraid that I left her with a misconception. I wanted to try and resolve that, but we heard Ms. Cristholm going back into the house and Laurenna hustled us back to you. I did tell her, Laurenna that is, that she is a very talented engineer and if she wants a place, we would love to have her. She said that she would think about it. I hope that is alright?" More softly, after a shorter pause, she lifts a hand that trembles only slightly and lays it against his cheek, "I wish that you had told me, Kerf. About Laurenna's beau. I wish that I had asked. I am sorry."

The palomino continues pacing in the direction of that gentle hillslope, the landmark they must skirt to reach the pleasantly secluded picnic spot, although at this rate the others will spot them first on their way back to town. Or as part of a search party. The stallion's gait keeps its riders rocking gentle in saddle and against one another. After the interval of quiet contemplation between topics, Kerf's thoughts move far away from those sensations, and he focuses on the details of the conversation he had likewise not witnessed. Curiosity and concern settle in his gaze over the initial insights into Mrs. Bergmin's state of marital bliss, only shrugging a little uncertainly over whether it was particularly Begmannish of her to downplay it to the point of deprecation. As she pauses, he takes the opportunity to finetune the angle of trying more or less to face one another; one hand cupped to her hip to spare her fetching into the saddlehorn, the other resting over her beskirted legs, keeping them snug along his thigh. Then they get to that so very regrettable part of his solo quest, and he grimaces unhappily to hear it told back to him, memories, hearsay, mistakes, and all. Feeling the stiffness in her bearing, he relinquishes some of his grip to allow the rocking rhythm to return, and the secondary friction that comes with it.. from the saddle, but also from the arrangement of their limbs. Listening still, his gaze narrows over this bit of subtext or that half-formed worry, but at the end, he begins to nod.

"There is no need for you to apologize, my love," he murmurs, leaning into her hand for a brief nuzzle and blinking slowly. "It was a dark incident I would have liked to forget. I thought, when Mr. Moore broke the news that Miss Kirkman was engaged to marry, that would close the case on ever approaching that situation a second time, and that the recent wedding decided things that much more thoroughly. Not so, especially as it was rightfully pointed out that even as 'Missus', she is free to pursue her career as she wishes. It was right of you to extend her that offer, Maggie," he nods with a slight smile that doesn't last. "Three things though.. three things, at least. I don't happen to have a favourable first impression of Mr. Bergmin, nor he of me, clearly. I can only imagine the sort of prejudice he has nursed over the years since his Miss Kirkman chose to leave Begma on her secretive assignment. To then realize I was asking her to leave once more? I think I understand his anger, even without subjecting the moment to an illicit misinterpretation.. whatever it was I'd said." He shakes his head, frowning uncomfortably over that point. "He should not have made those allusions upon her honour." It troubles his thoughts a moment more, then he moves on: "I am certain he didn't mean to kill me at any point. He is a product of Begma, a lawful society of sacred values. That said.. he is a Begman quick to make threat, and to wield threat." His eyes harden and flash, as though reliving the moment, and certainly that is what the Begman workshop engineer faced when he saw fit to brandish his sonic projectile prototype at a pirate captain.. a revolutionary soldier.. a bloodyminded control freak of a submarine commander. "I.. reacted.. not in the way that he'd hoped." Kerf lets out his breath, slow and quiet, using self-admonishment to cool down the memory. "He flinched, the device triggered... and the corner of the doorway.. brick and wood.. exploded beside me. Materials which weren't suitable for an industrial steel sander," he pauses to explain, like technical specs are of great passing interest in all situations.