"Did it?" he asks, slumping back against the tree and gesturing at Marion with his free arm. "You chose to ride the horse instead of me."

It's drawled out, as dry as can be, but the look on Detlef's face is more amused than anything else.

"I can't compete," he attempts to lament, now sounding amused too. "She's maresterious and majestic and I'm just Detlef the stableman, charmer of cats, not embroiderers. But I try. How I try."