[ Ben nods silently, agreeing with Kieran's description of horses and why they are good, compared to people. He wonders what it would be like, to live like that. Not to hide everything by reflex. Not to be surprised by himself, twisted up and confused on the inside, not even sure half the time what he really thinks, what he really wants.

He pulls back, cards his fingers through Branwen's mane, trying to work out a few of the tangles he had accidentally put into it. ]

Do horses... like getting their hair brushed?

[ He feels like he's read about horses getting brushed down, in old novels, but he isn't sure if that's just after they've been on a big journey or whether they like being groomed regardless. Ben strokes his hand down Branwen's neck; marveling at how warm and still and patient he is.

The words spill out without him meaning to say them: ]

I didn't expect to feel like this.

[ Ben looks at Branwen, his surprisingly long eyelashes, those deep soulful eyes. He can feel where Kieran is standing close by, looking at him probably, but Ben can't bring himself to face him. It's easier to talk looking away, running his hand along Branwen's warm nose. ]

I should be used to it. The place I grew up had cameras everywhere. Recording us around the clock. So- so if anybody should be... okay, right now, it ought to be me.

[ He should be the one working on solving this. He should be the one comforting others. He shouldn't be weak like this. ]