Flashback A day with a horse

[Roderick]

21st of Spring, 512 AV The movement of the horse beneath him served to shake every bone in his body, forcing him to relive the pains of the day before. The wound the wolf had given him wasn't as bad as he had thought at first - unlikely to scar, so long as he kept it clean. Didn't stop it from burning; felt like a drunkard had run hot irons over his cheek. The urge to scratch at the crusts forming over the healing wound set his teeth on edge and his fingers twitching. Slowly plodding along, the horse under the hunter had been carrying him at a snail's pace; gradually he had managed to attain some slight hold over the horse, steering it this way or that, slowing to a stop or making it start. Overall though it went its own way and made its own way over the landscape. His lackluster knowledge of riding no doubt influenced the thing - a mixed blood - and stopped it from listening to him overly much. So far, he had allowed it to have its way. Now though, he felt a burning need to rush forward - to speed his progress up. At this rate he would be an ancient old man, gnarled as some of the trees about him. He clicked his heels against the animal's sides. The worst minute of his life soon followed. Taking off at a surprisingly fast pace, the horse broke into a canter, chucking its rider off balance. As he quickly started trying to regain his balance the hunter's boots clipped the animal's sides, sending it forward into a gallop. Somehow straitening in the saddle, he found himself being bounced up and down viciously by his mount's rapid charge and soon he felt the effects; lances of pain rammed about his nether regions. Trying to lift himself up and down in time with the horse didn't help - all it did was add more momentum as he was jolted back down towards the saddle. Becoming sterile at twenty was not a part of his plans for life. Roderick stood up in his stirrups - keeping a hand clutched to the saddle. Trees passed by in a blur, while the wind raged against his face. Somehow he managed to stay on the saddle - a painful experience, all told, what with all the jerking and flailing. As another wall of trees passed by within the space of a few seconds, the rider suddenly remembered that he still had the reins in hand; the hunter gave a harsh yank on them, feeling the horse instantly slow down. The sudden change in speed pitched him forward over the saddle; clinging to the horse's neck he avoided falling off - barely. Pushing himself back up so he was sitting properly - at least as far as he was concerned - he dug both hands under the saddle, as though he was going to fall off at any moment. Glaring down at the back of the horse's head, he cursed it, "You stupid shyke of a beast! Why'd you do that!?!" then it occurred to him that it had only done what he'd told it to - so the only one to blame was himself. Pursing his lips and giving the animal's windswept mane a sour look, he grumbled to himself and pulled his hands out from under the saddle so he could take up the reins in both hands. Let's try that again.

[Roderick]

Roderick tapped his boots against the animal's sides ever so slightly, feeling it move under him. Surprisingly it moved forward slowly. Clip, clop, clippity, clop. There was a certain rhythm to its actions. He found himself shifting in the saddle in time with its steps. While the progress they made was painfully slow, he found he much preferred it over being thrown around in the saddle. Passing down a slight incline the ground turned to hard rocks, changing the sounds beneath them to grinding and crunching. When they had cleared that Roderick decided to have another go at moving a little faster. This time he tapped his heels against its sides gently; he was pleased when it started up a light little trot. He bounced along to that rhythm for a while, watching the trees go by leisurely, while the horse did all the work for him. "You're not so bad," the hunter allowed, "but I still don't trust you." The horse snorted under him and kept to its beat. Roderick tapped it ever so slightly on the sides again and it broke out into a canter. The bouncing was similar to when it had been going at full pelt, only much easier to adjust to. Standing up a little in his stirrups, Roderick avoided the same pain he'd suffered before. Giving a little tug of the reins he slowed the horse down until it was at a trot, then gave another tug and felt it slow to a walk. Pleased with himself, the hunter tugged again and the horse stopped completely. Think I'm getting the hang of this. Accidentally clicking a heel against the horse's side, the animal set off at once into a trot, putting the hunter off balance and nearly dropping him from the saddle. Grabbing hold of the saddle with one hand and pulling the reins with the other, the horse stopped for a second time, it's rider glaring down at it. It seemed that every time he was developing a little control over the horse it revealed that it didn't care for him at all. Considering it was no longer moving, Roderick decided now might be the time to try and figure out a few basic movements on the horse. Holding his reins far too tightly, he pulled on the right side of the reins, willing the horse to turn to the right. When it did nothing he tugged again, harder. Still nothing; it seemed intent on ignoring the command. With a final annoyed yank, he felt the horse move; it turned itself about to the right, so it was facing away from the path he was on. Pleased with that, Roderick gave a tug with his left hand, so the horse would turn to the left. The hunter had to keep from shouting out in joy as the damned animal finally listened to him and turned itself about to the left. Seemed he just had to let it know he meant business. Smirking at the idea of having a battle of wills with a horse, Roderick decided to try a third action. With a pull on the reins with his right hand, the hunter felt the horse move about to the right. Rather than letting go of the reins he kept pulling them, so the horse continued moving around, until it had gone full circle. Mighty pleased with his success he leaned forward and rubbed the animal's neck. "If I had a carrot I'd give it to you," the hunter told it, "sadly for you, I don't." As though it understood him the horse whinnied and broke away from the path they'd been going along, heading straight for a outcrop of grass. With his mount munching down its breakfast, Roderick sighed and unhooked his feet from the stirrups. Clutching the saddle he swung himself over the side and dropped down to the ground. This time around he landed with both feet, though he still wobbled slightly. Righting himself with far more dignity than he had before, the hunter collected his crossbow and target from the saddlebags and set himself up a few feet from a nearby tree.

[Roderick]

Setting the weapon so the foot rest was pointed down, he hooked his boot through the metal loop and bent forward to draw the string back into position with both hands. When it had clicked into place the hunter straightened and held the crossbow in both hands, looking towards the tree, focusing on the spot he wanted to hit. Bringing the wood of the crossbow - called the stock, if memory served - to his shoulder, he sighted down the target and let the sights hover over that one area. Pulling the trigger, the weapon shuddered and the bolt buried itself into the target, within the third ring. Leaning down to ready the weapon again, he pulled the string into place and unbent himself. Looking at the target again, the Zeltivan squeezed the trigger and gripped his weapon for firmly this time, hoping to stop it from moving too much. Seeing the bolt going in the same general direction as the one before, he drummed his fingers against the stock. The fight against the wolves had been won by luck alone; if they had not been so close, and he so low down in the tree, he would never have hit them with this unwieldy weapon he carried. Bitter thoughts leaving a sour stain on his tongue, he held back the urge to mutter and curse, instead readying for another try. As he was drawing the string he realized he was pulling too much with his right hand and not enough with his left. Tugging more strongly with his left, he cocked the weapon and brought it to his shoulder. Standing so his side was facing the target, the hunter aimed for a while, then pulled the trigger and watched his bolt strike further to the left. The thought that entered his mind seemed to have some grain of truth to it, so he readied for another shot, pulling strongly with his left hand and weakly with his right. When he loosed this time, he watched the quarrel veer sharply to the left, striking the first ring. So pulling too hard with one hand when drawing affected where the bolt went? From what he had seen that idea seemed true. Keeping it in mind, he made to load the crossbow but heard the clopping of hooves and turned about to see the horse on its merry way into the trees. Hurrying over to the animal, he held his weapon in one hand while hauling on the reins with the other. Finding the horse to be solidly standing its ground, he shoved the crossbow away into his baldric and started hauling with both hands, dragging the horse slowly back to where he had his target. With a final yank, the horse obeyed and started moving. The lack of resistance at the other end set Roderick off balance, nearly landing him in the dirt. Determined to stay on his feet he set a hand to the animal's neck to steady himself, planting himself down on solid ground again. He stepped away from the horse, who snorted at him and bowed its head to eat the grass at his feet. "Bloody animal..."

[Roderick]

A few hours later, he was on the horse's back again, bouncing along uncomfortably in the saddle as it carried him on into the woods. By now the sun was setting beneath the hills; soon the chill of night would set in, bringing all the dangers of that time. Sore and aching from the ride, as well as another riding mishap where the horse stopped suddenly as it came across a fallen log and he nearly rolled right out of the saddle, Roderick was more than ready to abandon that days ride. Clambering down from the hellspawn, the hunter led it by the reins - far easier than before - into the cover of the nearby bushes. Tying its reins off on a low hanging branch, he searched around for somewhere to sleep. He found it in the form of a slight overhang of rock which created a small pocket sheltered from the wind and rain. Scraping a space clear, he set up a makeshift fire, gathering twigs, bark and leaves into a pile and circling it with a ring of stones to stop the flames from spreading too far. Brushing aside any offending leaves left behind, he collected his flint and tinder from his horse and set them to work creating a spark to light his fuel. After a few failed tries he finally struck a spark large enough to start the fire; as the flames started licking upward into the air, he blew gently on the beginnings of the tendrils, til they were greedily eating their way through the leaves, filling the air about him with the sound of crackling. Wrapping himself in his cloak, he untied his horse and led it closer to where he was sleeping, tying it off closer to where he planned to sleep. With that task done he ate the remains of a block of cheese and sipped at his supply of water. Bundled up in his cloak he lay beside his fire and let himself drift off into a light sleep, keeping his ears alert for anything unusual happening about him; the clicking of insects and hooting of owls sounded through the night - nothing out of the ordinary. Moving his side to find comfort on the dirt underneath him, he closed his eyes tighter still and held his arms closer about himself to shield himself from the night's chill. Waking the next morning was a lesson in pain; sleeping on hard dirt was, unsurprisingly, uncomfortable. Dragging himself out from under his crude shelter made everything twinge; stretching made several bones and joints crack loudly. Glancing down at his fire, almost completely burned out, he collected more dry leaves and added them to the pile, making sure to avoid piling them directly on top of the flames; you had the let the fire breath, or it would be snuffed out, no matter how much fuel it had. Restored to some semblance of its previous strength, Roderick collected some meat from his pack and, spearing it on the end of a dagger, held it over the open flames. Watching as it began to blacken and char, he felt his mouth water. Judging it to be ready, he ate the thing while it was still smoking, scorching the inside of his mouth so much he had to take a heavy draw from his waterskin so he could swallow the food down. Packing some of his things away, he took a handful of oats from a sack attached to the saddle and fed it to the horse, feeling its lips through the leather of his glove as it greedily devoured the offering. Finished here, he kicked dirt over his fire to snuff it out, then scattered leaves all over to hide the fact he had been there. Storing his things away in the saddlebags, the hunter untied the horse and led it away through the trees. When he reached a place where he was confident in being able to ride, he mounted and clicked his heels gently on the animal's sides, pleased with himself as it set off at a walk. "Thank you..." he said grudgingly, petting its neck. Maybe today would prove better than the two before.

[Roderick]

Clopping along steadily, Roderick left the horse to its own business, concerning himself with the matter of holding himself properly in the saddle. Gripping with his knees and thighs didn't draw a reaction from the horse, so he assumed he was doing something right there. Keeping a hand near the saddle so he could grip it quickly if the horse bolted, the hunter held the reins and let the animal carry him closer to Syliras - for that was where he planned to go. After what he'd done, questions would be raised in Zeltiva - people wanting to know who had beaten those guards. Syliras was massive; it would be impossible to track down a single man within the network of passages, especially since no one in Syliras would be looking for him. He straightened to clear the tension from his back and stretched his jaw in a wide yawn. The ride for most of the day was boring - uneventful. Slowly he felt the pains creeping back to haunt him - though they'd hardly left - and the hunter found he had to bring the horse to a stop. Tying its bridle to a nearby branch he paced around to stretch his legs out, waddling for a while before the muscles began to relax. Dropping down to his hands and knees, he lowered himself to the ground and then pushed himself back up, over and over, feeling the burn in his arms build up slowly. One, two, three, four, five - a meager tinge. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten - he stopped as the burn intensified; no point straining himself this early in the day. Lying down on his back, he raised his body towards his bent knees. Gut clenched as he did it, the pain came more quickly this time - he paused after seven to let the burning die down, then kept going. Up, down, up down. The Zeltivan's gut seared by the time he was on thirteen; doing it once more, he rose to his feet. Every movement sent pinpricks along his body, shaking off any vestiges of sleep that might have been clinging to him. Wide awake now, he pulled himself back up into the saddle and clicked his heels against the horse's sides, no longer feeling too unbalanced as it took off into the woods, hooves smacking the ground rhythmically; thump, thump, thump, thump - thump, thump, thump, thump. Swaying in the saddle, Roderick started humming idly to himself to pass the time. At some point he fell asleep. Waking at the feeling of the horse stopping abruptly, he was startled back into the world sharply. Looking through blurry eyes, the hunter saw a particularly large tree trunk blocking his path. Gripping the reins sleepily he steered the horse off to the right, moving it haltingly about the tree. When it had cleared the obstacle he coughed to clear his throat and rubbed a hand over his eyes as he tried to judge the time of day; a few hours of daylight remained. Having spent most of his day riding, he stopped his horse and moved himself from the saddle; his legs crumpled under him and he stumbled about as he dismounted, legs numb and aching from the hours of riding. Somehow he led the horse away to some bushes so it could graze, while he collapsed onto a nearby rock and started rubbing at his legs in an attempt to revive them. Blood returned to them gradually, bringing back all the agony with it. Grumbling to himself about the pain in his legs, he waddled over to his mount and tied its bridle off on the nearest branch he could find, then started searching about for shelter. There was little to find around him, other the trees, grass and bushes. Anything was better than sleeping on the cold hard ground with the sky above, so he picked a big bush to sleep under, crawling beneath its strands and hugging his cloak about his limbs. Knew I should've got a tent...