Jaime still feels like a fish out of water, despite the trappings of welcome slung about him. His missing hand has been the subject of averted gazes and curtailed whispers, or so he thinks. They're all whispering, pitying, wondering what sort of man he is now.

The cloak he refuses to remove, yet, weighs heavily on his shoulders as he makes his way toward the stables. Riding is something he's managed to get the hang of, at least, and he's not wanted anywhere else, yet, today.

He pauses when he sees her, studying the way she moves with a wisp of envy he tries to quell. His self-pity is not anything she has ever indulged. Straightening, he sets a distant sort of smile on his lips and moves forward, one eyebrow arched.

"Has the tree done something to offend you?"