Summer 12th, 511AV Location: Travelling to Lhavit from Alvadas In his mind he estimated it to be somewhere just past the ninth bell, but during these long journeys he often lose track of time. The monotonous clip, clop, clip, clop of the horse he was riding would often lull Emeric into deep thought. Beside him rode another mercenary, much older and in the employ of their mutual benefactor for almost twenty years. Jasper was a giant of a man, world weary and quietly content. He’d been with the Acre Caravan since it’s founding, although until recently Emeric had next to no contact with him. “Play some music.” He growled, to which Emeric offered a small nod. He reached around and begun to unstrap the lyre on his back, the horse beneath him however had other ideas and began to veer wildly to the left. The pinto creature shook and shuddered in its attempts to dislodge Emeric but he swiftly swung himself back into position and yanked the reigns. The horse fell into step, unhappily, with Jasper. “Never behaves,” muttered Emeric. Jasper laughed, “No wonder, boy. You’re literally killing its back! Who the hell taught you to ride?” “Me.” Emeric replied frankly. “Aye, it shows. You’re riding forward, like there’s no saddle, sit back a bit, loosen yer grip on the reigns.” Emeric did as instructed, shuffling backwards onto the broader part of the saddle. “Aye, that’s it boy. Must have bollocks of steel to have been sitting on the pommel…” Jasper laughed again. “This feels… strange.” Emeric remarked. “Hell if it doesn’t! You act like you’ve never used a saddle in your life. Open up your legs as well.” Jasper critically appraised the young man beside him. “Aye, that’ll just about do it. Keep sitting like that and yer arse might not fall off.” Almost immediately the horse seemed happier, responding quickly to his directions. Jasper gave him a sanguine nod and resumed riding. Emeric appreciated the silence, as he focused on using the saddle properly, lining his knees up in the correct position. He recalled to just a few days past, when he was still in the company of Gregory Acre, the eldest son who had spent the previous eighteen months by Emeric’s side watching, waiting for what he perceived to be the inevitable betrayal. Gregory could talk for days, and Emeric reflected somewhat bitterly that he had never told him how badly he was riding. Whether that was a reflection of his dislike of Emeric, or his ignorance on such matters was another matter entirely. It was Gregory who had insisted that Emeric not buy his own horse, but rather ride the old, painted horse who had served the family longer even than Jasper. And once again he found himself gripping the reigns too tightly as the horse had begun to get irritable, snorting and shaking its head. He quickly opened his hands and let the reigns slide forward. Even the basics require focus, he thought, patting the horse on the neck and whispering some measure of reassuring sounds into its ear. |