Jeannetta

"I could go with you, you know," she said.  Beneath her the small stool wobbled a bit, having been made unsteady.  She watched him lift his pack onto the horse's back, securing it with a strap.  His helm tightened around his chin and his armor fitting him like a glove.  She always loved seeing him in his uniform, although this time she wished she could take it off and force him not to go. 

Found;

A possible solution.

I had returned to Trestlebridge, as promised. I was hesitant to enter the place, as I always am. 'Tis not the burned buildings or grubby people. 'Tis not the sense of despair that permeates the place like a cloying cloud. 'Tis not even the lack of decent amenities that makes me dislike the place so. I've come across smaller, dirtier and more disagreeable places on my travels. Rather, it is the way the people look at me when they remember who I am. I'd really rather they didn't.

The afternoon sun was just past its pinnacle in the sky and on its way descending towards the horizon when it paused to shed light on the hard-working town of Trestlebridge. It brought forth sweat from the necks of carpenters sawing down lumber, glinted against the swords of guards practicing combat, and illuminated the anxious faces of mothers trying to feed their children with little in their larders.

The dapple-grey horse seemed to be enjoying the attentive brushing of the fair-haired young woman. He had been restless in a foreign stable surrounded by foreign stable hands until the return of normalcy: Ellany smoothing his coat down with a coarse brush after a hard day’s ride.