513 AV, 37th Day of Summer
"Take this horse, he says. Retrain it, he says!" Arundel stared at the gelding standing placidly in front of her, tail swishing and back legs stomping at insects. It had been traded to her father for some of her mother's finer hand-made clothing and several bolts of cloth, by some Syliran man out on some odd foreigner business that she couldn't think of any reason to care a hoot about. Her father planned on selling the horse for a profit to a non-Drykas. Arundel traded hands with the lead rope coiled in her fingers, moving around to inspect the animal's shoulders. He was a bony withered animal, but more or less well conformed. She was thinking he had a drop hip, as well, but it didn't seem to hinder his movements. He had followed easily along to where several of their Seme's grazed.
That had been quite the greeting party. Their big drafty pulling horses all running up, nickering and throwing themselves around, crowding the poor new mixed blood. Finally, as horses usually did, they'd lost interest and gone back to their grass. Her own mare stuck closeby out of curiosity, and maybe a bit of jealousy. "Alright, you." She pulled the gelding's head up and away from the grass for what seemed like the hundredth time. He wasn't a very attentive sort of horse. He tossed his head, and the halter that had come with him jingled loudly. She hated the tack, but because the future owner of this horse would not be Drykas, she was to assume whoever it was would not have the same horsemanship methods of her people. For that reason she would not train him for a yvas.
For now, she had a neck rope thrown across her shoulder to start training his sensitivity to voice and touch, without relying on any sort of contact to his mouth and head. This would benefit every aspect of him, from leading to riding. She slipped it over his face and let it settle against his shoulders, hanging comfortably around his neck. Then, she attached to it a long line of rope she'd brought along. Finally she could take off his halter. Instantly, his head dipped down to start munching at grass. Her eyes rolled skyward, but she smiled. "You'll learn to pay attention soon enough." Arundel stooped to pick up a tool that they never had use for except in cases like this, when a horse had no idea how to work without something like it. A driving whip.
She looked at the long, braided leather whip in disdain. It wouldn't touch the horse with any more strength than a tap. Arundel was sure the gelding would need incentive until he learned proper cues. She sighed heavily through flared nostrils, not liking the weight of the whip in her fingers. She gripped the line tighter tied to the animal's neck rope. Slowly, she took several paces back and around, setting herself near but out of range of the gelding back legs. "Ready?" she asked the horse, but also a little to herself. He raised his brown, slightly sorrel head to look at her, ears swiveling around at the sound of her question.
As he lowered his head toward the ground again, before he could take another mouthful, Arundel gently swatted his round hindquarters with the end of the whip. "Walk on!" she ordered clear a firm. He didn't like that. The gelding exploded in a wild protest of flying hooves - bucking, crow hopping, and trying to gallop off. Arundel gasped and dropped the whip, grabbing and holding the line tied to his neck rope with both hands. She dug her heels into the ground, bracing her feet wide apart - one in front of the other - as she tried to stop the horse's retreat. The rope slipped through her fingers for several feet, burning the skin and making her curse violently. The gelding pulled her along behind him for several stumbling yards until she could get another good hold on the rope.
"Whoa! Whoa!!" She forced herself to not scream at the ill-trained animal, instead trying for a calm but firm tone. Arundel had to repeat herself several times before he bumbled into an extended trot, circling around finally and giving to the pressure around his neck. Then, after an agonizing wait, he stopped. He held his head high, sides heaving and skin shivering. He snorted and stamped his feet, sidepassing away when she tried to approach him. Arundel sighed, shaking from adrenaline. She had been almost certain he would yank her off her feet and drag her for who knew how long. Had her father known anything about this horse before he bought it? The animal wasn't even trained to work from the ground, that much was very clear.
It led, which was a start. But what else did it know? It seemed she would have to find out the old fashioned way. And there was one more thing she was certain of - he disliked whips even more than she did.
"Take this horse, he says. Retrain it, he says!" Arundel stared at the gelding standing placidly in front of her, tail swishing and back legs stomping at insects. It had been traded to her father for some of her mother's finer hand-made clothing and several bolts of cloth, by some Syliran man out on some odd foreigner business that she couldn't think of any reason to care a hoot about. Her father planned on selling the horse for a profit to a non-Drykas. Arundel traded hands with the lead rope coiled in her fingers, moving around to inspect the animal's shoulders. He was a bony withered animal, but more or less well conformed. She was thinking he had a drop hip, as well, but it didn't seem to hinder his movements. He had followed easily along to where several of their Seme's grazed.
That had been quite the greeting party. Their big drafty pulling horses all running up, nickering and throwing themselves around, crowding the poor new mixed blood. Finally, as horses usually did, they'd lost interest and gone back to their grass. Her own mare stuck closeby out of curiosity, and maybe a bit of jealousy. "Alright, you." She pulled the gelding's head up and away from the grass for what seemed like the hundredth time. He wasn't a very attentive sort of horse. He tossed his head, and the halter that had come with him jingled loudly. She hated the tack, but because the future owner of this horse would not be Drykas, she was to assume whoever it was would not have the same horsemanship methods of her people. For that reason she would not train him for a yvas.
For now, she had a neck rope thrown across her shoulder to start training his sensitivity to voice and touch, without relying on any sort of contact to his mouth and head. This would benefit every aspect of him, from leading to riding. She slipped it over his face and let it settle against his shoulders, hanging comfortably around his neck. Then, she attached to it a long line of rope she'd brought along. Finally she could take off his halter. Instantly, his head dipped down to start munching at grass. Her eyes rolled skyward, but she smiled. "You'll learn to pay attention soon enough." Arundel stooped to pick up a tool that they never had use for except in cases like this, when a horse had no idea how to work without something like it. A driving whip.
She looked at the long, braided leather whip in disdain. It wouldn't touch the horse with any more strength than a tap. Arundel was sure the gelding would need incentive until he learned proper cues. She sighed heavily through flared nostrils, not liking the weight of the whip in her fingers. She gripped the line tighter tied to the animal's neck rope. Slowly, she took several paces back and around, setting herself near but out of range of the gelding back legs. "Ready?" she asked the horse, but also a little to herself. He raised his brown, slightly sorrel head to look at her, ears swiveling around at the sound of her question.
As he lowered his head toward the ground again, before he could take another mouthful, Arundel gently swatted his round hindquarters with the end of the whip. "Walk on!" she ordered clear a firm. He didn't like that. The gelding exploded in a wild protest of flying hooves - bucking, crow hopping, and trying to gallop off. Arundel gasped and dropped the whip, grabbing and holding the line tied to his neck rope with both hands. She dug her heels into the ground, bracing her feet wide apart - one in front of the other - as she tried to stop the horse's retreat. The rope slipped through her fingers for several feet, burning the skin and making her curse violently. The gelding pulled her along behind him for several stumbling yards until she could get another good hold on the rope.
"Whoa! Whoa!!" She forced herself to not scream at the ill-trained animal, instead trying for a calm but firm tone. Arundel had to repeat herself several times before he bumbled into an extended trot, circling around finally and giving to the pressure around his neck. Then, after an agonizing wait, he stopped. He held his head high, sides heaving and skin shivering. He snorted and stamped his feet, sidepassing away when she tried to approach him. Arundel sighed, shaking from adrenaline. She had been almost certain he would yank her off her feet and drag her for who knew how long. Had her father known anything about this horse before he bought it? The animal wasn't even trained to work from the ground, that much was very clear.
It led, which was a start. But what else did it know? It seemed she would have to find out the old fashioned way. And there was one more thing she was certain of - he disliked whips even more than she did.
