Caine Crosswell
He looked up from his sandy resting place to see Rhoda effortlessly calm his horse, bringing it back, and helping the young noble up.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." He said, tugging at the neck of his parchment-colored shirt, sand falling off of his chest, and smiling sheepishly at the hooded young lady. "I've uh...never really been an animal person." He said, thinking back to the time when his sister Viola first brought home her stray cat, Lord Whiskers. The mangy feline had been surprisingly good around the rest of the family, but the second he saw Caine, it was if the boy had murdered the cat's family in cold blood, and drank an entire mug of milk right in front of him. He still had scars on his back from that day. Not to mention his immobilizing fear of birds. He shuddered at the thought.
He carefully got back up onto his horse, being careful this time to sit in the proper riding position. He reached into his saddlebag and withdrew his canteen, taking a long overdue gulp of the luke-warm water.
"So," He began looking over to the fairer rider. "Where are you from?"