Fall 88th, 515 AV
Windmount Stables
Morning
"It's high time you learned how to ride," Ser Blackburn announced with fiendish delight. His squire trudged along beside him up the winding path to the barns, heart in his throat. Collin was a big man and up for a challenge, but riding a half-ton charging wall of flesh with a mind of its own was something he'd always avoided. He was brave; not reckless and stupid. It helped that his family was never wealthy enough to keep any of their own, so he never had the opportunity to work with horses in Zeltiva.
"Every Knight worth his salt can swing a sword in the saddle, but we'll start with sitting without falling off." His patron had a sense of humor that seemed to flourish at the squire's expense. Collin was up for the task, but he was apprehensive. The barn smelled of manure and hay, and his nose wrinkled at the unfamiliar odors. Zeltiva didn't smell pleasant by any means but its salty air and fishy aftertaste was part of home. The odors associated with Syliras still stung his eyes, and even though the stables were built on open land, he found himself breathing through his mouth as much as possible.
"I've requisitioned an old rouncey for you to start with. The heat was run out of him years ago. Should suit our purposes for now." The horse in question was a big red beast that looked anything but suitable. Collin's chin hardly crested the animal's back, and thick muscle carved prominent ridges under its hide. Old it may be, but strong it still was. Ser Blackburn slid the stall door open and handed him a halter. "Go on and fetch him then. The nose piece goes over the muzzle, draw the crown up behind the ears, and buckle it in place. Easy."
Collin stepped up to the animal's shoulder and placed an uncertain hand on its neck. It watched him out of the corner of its eye, one ear twisted in his direction, waiting quietly. He moved up toward its face and murmured quiet nonsense more for his comfort than the horse's. When he lifted the halter up to its nose, years of habit took over and the gelding dipped his muzzle into the nose band. The squire grunted in incredulous amusement and carefully pulled the crown piece over his ears one at a time, then buckled it in place. The horse simply looked at him patiently and Collin felt himself relax a little. A tap on his shoulder made him turn, and Ser Blackburn handed him the lead rope.
"Come on. Now for the saddle."
Windmount Stables
Morning
Note :
"It's high time you learned how to ride," Ser Blackburn announced with fiendish delight. His squire trudged along beside him up the winding path to the barns, heart in his throat. Collin was a big man and up for a challenge, but riding a half-ton charging wall of flesh with a mind of its own was something he'd always avoided. He was brave; not reckless and stupid. It helped that his family was never wealthy enough to keep any of their own, so he never had the opportunity to work with horses in Zeltiva.
"Every Knight worth his salt can swing a sword in the saddle, but we'll start with sitting without falling off." His patron had a sense of humor that seemed to flourish at the squire's expense. Collin was up for the task, but he was apprehensive. The barn smelled of manure and hay, and his nose wrinkled at the unfamiliar odors. Zeltiva didn't smell pleasant by any means but its salty air and fishy aftertaste was part of home. The odors associated with Syliras still stung his eyes, and even though the stables were built on open land, he found himself breathing through his mouth as much as possible.
"I've requisitioned an old rouncey for you to start with. The heat was run out of him years ago. Should suit our purposes for now." The horse in question was a big red beast that looked anything but suitable. Collin's chin hardly crested the animal's back, and thick muscle carved prominent ridges under its hide. Old it may be, but strong it still was. Ser Blackburn slid the stall door open and handed him a halter. "Go on and fetch him then. The nose piece goes over the muzzle, draw the crown up behind the ears, and buckle it in place. Easy."
Collin stepped up to the animal's shoulder and placed an uncertain hand on its neck. It watched him out of the corner of its eye, one ear twisted in his direction, waiting quietly. He moved up toward its face and murmured quiet nonsense more for his comfort than the horse's. When he lifted the halter up to its nose, years of habit took over and the gelding dipped his muzzle into the nose band. The squire grunted in incredulous amusement and carefully pulled the crown piece over his ears one at a time, then buckled it in place. The horse simply looked at him patiently and Collin felt himself relax a little. A tap on his shoulder made him turn, and Ser Blackburn handed him the lead rope.
"Come on. Now for the saddle."
