[Amanaduial the archer]

Aman came back down the stairs, sighing. It had been around fifteen minutes since the girl went up the stairs, and the Esgalhugwen seemed to have calmed down, her breathing levelling out and her muttering stopping eventually, whether due to the herbs Vanwe and Aman had used or not. In the Inn, all around people seemed to be talking in low voices about the whole event, but things had calmed down....inside, at least.

Aman winced as the sound of a splintering door made everyone in the room look up - a familiar sound the one who had all too often had to deal with the highly-strung steeds of flighty messengers. But it was followed by another slamming, splintering sound as the horse's hooves hit it again - audible even in the Inn. Aman closed her eyes for a second, her hand half way through running through her hair, which she had let down, before she ran outside towards the stables. As she was almost there, she heard a final almighty neighing, then the sound of the door giving up and its hinges breaking, and swift hooves running first over wood, then stone, then cobbles. As Aman turned the corner, she saw a second horse race from the stables, a rider crouched low over it's back - Eodwine's horse, by the looks of it, and Derufin the rider.

Not slowing, Aman turned into the stables, glad now that she was wearing a tunic still, and wasn't hampered by her usual skirts, and almost ran straight into Beren. Stepping back hastily, Aman gestured out after Derufin. "What's happened?"

"One of the horses has escaped - an elven steed, and therefore-"

"-attuned to it's mistress or master." Aman finished. "I understand - I used to be a horse trainer in Rohan," she explained at his questioning gaze. "More and more elven horses came through as time passed - I've never really got used to it."

"Mmm," Beren agreed, then seemed about to say more, when two more of the horses at the back began to kick up a fuss again, their now-stretched nerves probably sent twanging by a new prescence in the stables. Walking quickly, but careful not to run, Aman made her way down to them, picking the most agitated of the pair - a bay mare, one of the most beautiful horses she had ever seen, dancing around her stable, tossing her head and snorting, rearing up a few times, her hooves flailing. Aware of the obvious danger, Aman did not come into the stable straight away, but did lift the bolt with one hand, while still approaching slowly, holding up her other hand (her right hand), palm towards the horse, but not tense. She made a small shh-ing noise between her teeth as she came nearer and the horse, her attention caught, stopped prancing around so much.

Easing up the latch and slipping through the door, careful not to make any sudden movements, Aman kept her eyes on the horse all the time, still making the small noise, like wind through the trees, and then beginning to murmer - not the complete nothings of most horse-owners, but normal talk, beginning to tell the horse what had happened as if she was a human or elf, but quietly, so quietly, her voice smooth and calm. As she came closer, the horse kept snorting and moved back a few steps, so Aman stopped, but her voice didn't. Consistency, as she had found at Rohan whilst training and stabling horses, is something that an animal can lean on, can trust, and trust is the key. Hand still up in front of her, still murmering, Aman simply watched the horse, her head slightly to one side, and, after a few dubious seconds, the mare lowered her head slightly. Still moving slowly, Aman lowered her hand onto the horse's nose as it was presented to her, stroking the soft, silky fur, then moved her other hand up to the horses neck, rubbing softly and rhythmically on the long, arched neck. And, as she stood close to this magnificent animal, Aman remembered all the satisfaction she had always had doing this and, suddenly, dangerously, the practical, steadfast Innkeeper remembered her old home, her first home, in the land of the Rohirrim.