~The Market~

They rode leisurely through the woods toward town; by necessity since the dress required her to sit sidesaddle. She would have much enjoyed the peaceful backdrop of nature around her… except Demil never ceased talking. It seemed to Fiora that he couldn’t stop. Though, he must be able to stay silent when he wished; he’d not roused Civyl when he had followed him for a whole day, after all. Perhaps it was the length of his necessary silence that caused him to prattle on and on as he rode next to her. 

He would jump from topic to topic so often it made her dizzy just trying to keep up. From the weather to the offerings of the shops in Brittner to his long held fear of Nivia to his affinity for ale and whiskey and back to the shops again. When it all became too overwhelming for her, she kept her gaze forward and let his voice become background noise while she focused her thoughts on an easy topic; namely, the visage of the beast she rode on. 

The stallion was a fine specimen that rivaled any of Lady Darya’s stock for quality. His coat was a very dark brown that could almost be considered black under enough shadow. But the sunlight caught the burnt sienna highlights in the sheen of his hide. Apart from a triangle of white right between his forelegs, it was the only color he wore.

Fiora had been a little nervous, riding a stallion, for the male of the species was well known to be harder to handle but Demil had insisted he would be kind. “He has an affinity for the ladies, that one,” he had joked, “like rider, like horse, eh?” He gave her a wink and Fiora felt heat rise to her cheeks. 

Demil had called him Clover, “…cuz it’s his favorite snack,” he explained. “Can’t barely get him to keep going if he finds a bloomin’ patch. No you can’t. At least not till he’s eaten all the flowers off.” He had laughed at his own statement while he worked on cinching the saddle. 

“Clover,” she murmured watching the horses ears perk and swivel toward her. She patted his neck. “That’s a nice name.”

“What’d you say?” Demil asked.

Fiora started, more from the following pause in his constant voice than from being addressed. She turned towards him while her brain frantically processed his last sentence. “Nothing,” she blurted. “I was just admiring your horse.”

“What, ole Gentre here?” he patted the neck of the horse he was riding on, misunderstanding her statement; she didn’t correct him. “Why he’s practically family. We got him not too long after the Birchwood brothers found me. Yes we did.”

The End

0 comments about this story Feed