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Old 07-17-2006, 01:56 PM   #88
Desultory Dwimmerlaik
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piosenniel's post

Rôg hurried in to the camp, straightening his tunic, tucking it neatly into his breeches. ‘Aiwendil – where is he?’ he asked as he spied the Elf and ran up to him. Lindir looked askance at him, his grey eyes glimmering with questions left unvoiced as Rôg put an anxious hand on his sleeve. The old man was pointed out and there followed a hasty conference as Rôg huddled with him, his face serious, gestures animated.


'We have to come to some compromise, beast.' Rôg approached his horse slowly, his eyes fixed on the creature's face. Just as warily, or perhaps more with humor as it's difficult to read a horse's expression, his mount eyed him. 'There is a need for compromise as I must ride you . . . soon and in haste.'

The dun mare flicked her hide seeming to consider his words. She snorted, though in a less unfriendly manner, he decided and nodded her head at him.

He could not tell if it was a dare or a compromise. With a sigh he approached her.


Folwren's post

Athwen bent over the fire and stirred the stew with a wooden spoon. Steam rose up gently from the open pot and she extended her head just a little bit to get a whiff of the tempting scent. Very soon it would be quite ready for eating. She knocked the spoon against the rim of the pot until most of the water and broth from the stew had fallen away from it and then laid it carefully across the top.

She gathered her skirts and stood up. She looked towards Rôg and Aiwendil, who had sat for some little time together talking. Rôg was standing up now, though, and a last word passed between the two of them before he turned and walked away from camp.

Athwen’s eyes followed him. She saw immediately that he was going to where the horses were picketed for the night. She stepped away from the firelight so that she could see out into the darkness after him.

Rôg slowed his walk down to a very slow approach. From where Athwen stood, she could only see his back, but she could picture his face, and his eyes fixed steadily and warily on his horse. His body was as rigid as a pole and Athwen was inclined to laugh.

Walking quickly but quietly, she followed him and before he had touched his horse, she came to his side.

“Look, most of your problem is the either that you know next to nothing about horses or that you’re afraid of her. If you’re afraid of her, then you’re really not going to get anywhere with her because she knows it and will either take complete advantage of you or will become frightened herself. Now, look. Instead of being shy and slow and entirely too stiff, you need to loosen up a bit and get to know her and let her get to know you.”

She stepped towards the mare’s head and put out one hand towards her nose. She stopped a couple inches short and waited. The horse looked at her a moment and then after a pause stuck her nose forward and nuzzled into Athwen’s cupped hands. Finding nothing, she snorted and drew back. Athwen stepped up directly beside her and slipped her other hand underneath her cheek an fondled the head gently. She stroked the fury face and crooned soft words in the horse’s ear. After a few moments of such attention, the mare grew tired of it and shook her head. Athwen let her go and stepped back.

“Now, Rôg, she’s a gentle animal and won’t hurt you. Come up here and pet her and then once she lets you handle her head as I did, run your hands over her.” She gentle stroked the horse’s neck as she spoke, looking at Rôg all the while.


piosenniel’s post

Look, most of your problem is the either that you know next to nothing about horses or that you’re afraid of her……you need to loosen up a bit and get to know her and let her get to know you.

Well, there she was…Athwen, that is…looking at him…expectantly. And how was he to handle this, he wondered. Of horses, he knew more than he wanted. And she, the dun mare, knew more of him than any in this little group, save Aiwendil.

She simply did not like him. The mare. And who could blame her really. Seeing as how her kind had been hunted by his sort and eaten. No use trying to explain to her that this was no longer so, of course; the mare again, that is. It was something imprinted so deeply in her that no overtures of gentleness or offer of good fellowship, cooperation, camaraderie would win her over.

‘Well, I do thank you for your kind instruction, Mistress Athwen.’ Rôg gave her a somewhat embarrassed smile and put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘But I haven’t your gift for working with horses, it seems. They simply do not care for me. It’s always been so.’ He shook his head in a decidedly resigned way. ‘The best I can hope for is that when it comes time to ride she will allow it without too much of a struggle.’

Rôg lifted his nose and sniffed appreciatively at the savory smell of the stew. He put out his hand in a gesture of invitation. ‘Perhaps I will feel differently once some of that delicious stew is in my empty belly.’ He glanced round at the mare. ‘And you, of course, feel free to have your own supper. We will resume our negotiations later.’

‘Shall we join the others, Mistress Athwen?’

Last edited by piosenniel; 07-19-2006 at 02:37 AM.
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