Eorling Mead Hall

[Folwren]

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you that a horse can’t be your friend. Æthel is one of the truest.”

Javan giggled rather humorously. “I know. My father thinks it’s ridiculous. He likes horses and doesn’t mind me being with them so much, but he doesn’t see how they can possibly be anyone’s friend. ‘They’re animals,’” he went on, his voice dropping into a deeper, imitation of someone’s voice (his father’s, presumably), “‘animals aren’t friends. They may seem to like you so long as you feed and water them and keep them groomed, but they couldn’t care less if you didn’t.’”

He rambled to a stop and gently stroked Æthel’s velvet-like nose. She was a very attractive horse, with warm, bright eyes, and a finely shaped head. He leaned against the wall, his hand still caressing her. “I wish I had my own horse. I don’t have one,” he explained with a sigh as Lèof’s glance showed surprise. “How did you get yours?”