"We could," she agress. "Though I must see what flowers grow in Ithilien first. I would wish to choose one difficult to find, lest I be told of your love only rarely!"

His horse moves close enough again for her to capture Faramir's hand and kiss the fingers, and her lips linger a little on the knuckles. "A rest would do us all good, I am sure. We would not want to tire our horses."

An absurd idea, that a ride of a mere hour or two at gentle pace would tire either of their mounts, both trained for much harder riding than this. Clearly, that is but an excuse.