"I told you it was all right," he said harshly.
A savagery entered her voice, struggling with that restraint. "Will you quit trying to hide it, Crawford. From me. From yourself. I know all about it now. I've seen it. There's no use being ashamed of it with me. It's there. We both recognize it. Admit it. That's the first thing you've got to do."
"All right. I'm afraid. Every time it moves. Every time it bats an eyelash. Every time it—"
He stopped, realizing how violent the release had been, and it seemed the mocking echoes of his voice were dying down the sombrous lanes of the brush. He turned away from her, feeling a new wave of shame.
"That's better than nothing," she said. The tone of Merida's voice made him turn back to her. She must have been waiting for that, because the movement brought his eyes around to hers. "When you wouldn't meet Quartel back at the bull-tailing," she said, "I condemned you for being a coward. I'll never do it again. You may be afraid, but I'll never condemn you for it. The only thing I'll condemn you for is refusing to face your fear."
He felt his legs relaxing slightly, and for a moment the beat of his heart diminished. He had never talked with anyone about it like this before. He had kept it locked within himself, refusing to look at it, refusing to admit it even to himself.
"Do your legs hurt now?" she said.
"A little." His voice was tight.
"Crawford—"
"All right. A lot. They hurt like hell. I hurt all over. Does that satisfy you?"