Solo [Unstable Stables] Riding Far and Near

[Dovey]

45 Spring, 518 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

The day was awfully hot. Dovey had nearly stayed at home, work be petched - stayed at the Cubacious, she meant - that was odd, that was, her thinking of the inn as home. But the sun had begun to beam directly through her window, heating her little room like a furnace, and driving her outside where at least there was a breeze. And once she was out, well, there was no good in standing about sweating and not getting paid for it.

Alvadas was merciful today, and she only walked for fifteen chimes before spying the Unstable Stables at the end of the street. Quickening her pace, she soon reached the welcoming shade of the main hallway, and after loitering for a moment in the relative cool, she set off towards the block of stalls it was her custom to supply with water and hay.

There she found another stablehand already tossing armfuls of sweet hay to the horses. He was a tall young man, burly; Dovey didn't recognize him. He must be new. She sidled up to his wheelbarrow of hay and took an armful; he turned at the rustling sound, and she smiled. "What's your name?"

"It's Collins," he answered, returning the smile with a warm one of his own. He had a rough face, tanned, with a thick white scar down the center of his forehead. Dovey regarded him curiously.

"That a first name or a family name?" she asked.

"I only got the one," and he turned back to his work, dumping hay into the stall of an eager filly. Dovey took his cue and returned to the chore as well. She wasn't offended; he seemed affable enough, and if he was new here she couldn't blame him for wanting to come off as a hard worker. After a chime or two they both came back to the barrow at once, and she spoke again.

"I'm Dovey," she said, gathering up a loose bundle of hay. "You new to the area, Collins? I haven't seen you around before."

"Well, yes and no," he replied. "I travel, y'see, and I been in these parts before - enough to get a little used to the illusions. 'M not - " and then he had to stop speaking, but for a grunt of effort, as he heaved a heavy box-stall door open a crack to shove the hay through. Dovey deposited her own hay while she waited for him to go on. Only a few horses were left to feed in this hallway - it was good to have help, especially in the awful heat. She wondered if she could wrangle keeping Collins with her the rest of the day.

"'M not Alvad at all, though," he said suddenly, just as if he had never stopped speaking. "And I just got here again yesterday. I been with a caravan. I thought I'd pick up some extra mizas while I'm in town."

Dovey nodded readily, her eyes a little wide, as she collected hay for the last horse on her side of the hall. He had been with a caravan, and he spoke so casually of travel. How much of the world had this man seen?

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Dovey]

45 Spring, 518 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

"I'm not an Alvad either, by birth," Dovey told Collins. "I come from Kenash." A touch of tender-feeling crept into her voice, as it tended to do when she spoke that name. "I suppose being such a traveler, you don't count yourself as coming from anywhere, but - "

"Oh yes, I do!" Collins forestalled her question, not angry by his voice, but emphatic. "'M from Sunberth. Lively place. Free place." He came over to look at the wheelbarrow, now empty of hay. "So we water 'em now, I guess."

They set to it, hauling buckets in from the pump in the yard, Collins reticent but Dovey determined to wrestle stories out of him. What was it like to live in Sunberth? She'd never even been near it, not on the outer coast at all, didn't he know. And he traveled, did he, where else had he been to? What had he seen, how many cities? Had he ever been attacked by anyone - anything - on the road? He gave short answers, no longer than a sentence or two each, but he never sounded quite annoyed.

They were back in the corridor, pouring water into the buckets hung in the stalls, when Tsavyn came and found them. "Dovey!" he said without preamble. "I need you."

"What is it?" She turned around, setting down her empty bucket.

"You know that three-year-old Buttercup?" came the reply. "If you're done here I need you to come train her. I've been working on weight in the saddle for a few days, but I don't have time today and I want to push her on."

"Weight in the saddle. A feed bag then?"

"Perfect. You can lean on her a little too, from a step."

Collins was watching with interest. When Tsavyn had gone, Dovey turned to see him leaning on a stall door, waiting to catch her eye. "Want any help?" he asked her.

Of course she did.

They walked down the halls leading to the western arena, a little more leisurely than Dovey might have moved had she been alone. Collins seemed to grow more open; a little down the hall he asked her about Kenash, and listened with interest when she elaborated. "But you grew up there," he interjected at one point. "So you've traveled too."

"Well - yes," she admitted. "But not willingly."

He drew her out on the topic as they went along, and was in the middle of a question when they reached their destination. "Which is that filly?" he said instead.

Dovey spun. "She's... she's just here!" she said, pointing triumphantly; she recognized that light palomino coat. Ordinarily Dovey would collect all her equipment now, juggling halter and feed bag and all on her way into the arena, before coming back for her horse. But now she had Collins' hands as well as her own. "Would you grab the black saddle from the corner tack room, please?" she said. "The little one? No girth, please."

He saluted playfully and went, leaving her to get the halter on the lively filly, and to reflect with a little surprise on how suddenly the quiet man had loosened up.

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Dovey]

45 Spring, 518 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

The filly startled a little when she saw the man with the saddle, the skin of her face shuddering beneath Dovey's fingers. Dovey herself looked up, halfway through buckling the halter secure onto the filly's face. Collins had been quick. "Just tote that to the arena, would you kindly?" she said. "And if you wouldn't mind getting a bag of grain out from the storage closet, back of the tack room..."

She'd been half-worried he was going to turn out to be one of those men's men who couldn't take too many directions at once, but he didn't turn snappish at all, just nodded with a grin and went. That put the lopsided half of a smile on Dovey's own face as she slid the leather strap home on the halter and led the filly out from her stall. Collins was brusque, or he had been, but there was nothing wrong with that - not if you weren't disagreeable, and he really was a nice fellow. And then there was that striking scar...

She met him in the arena, where he was dragging out the mounting block for her to stand on. "Thank you!" Dovey said, clapping him on the shoulder as she came past with the horse. "That's thoughtful of you."

"Least I can do," he said gruffly. "Saddle's on that chair, feed bag's on the ground there beside it."

"Would you mind holding her while I - "

"Not a bit," he replied, already taking the lead rope from Dovey's hands; she whirled away to retrieve the saddle from its nearby perch. "Thank you!" she said, returning. "Just stand with her by the mounting step and calm her, please, while I work with her."

He gave her a grin in answer and adjusted his grip on the lead rope, making it more secure - and not too soon; as the horse saw Dovey approach with the saddle she began to shift nervously, tossing her head up and down, trying to loosen Collins's hold on her. He put a hand on her neck just by her cheek, his expression slackening from rough to tender as he soothed her. "Sshhhh..."

Dovey glanced over a moment, surprised at the change to his voice; like his face it had smoothed and softened in response to the horse's fear, so that it almost seemed to belong to a different man. But she had a job to do, and there was no time to stand around. Instead she lent her own voice to Collins's efforts, talking quiet nonsense to the filly in her gentlest of tones, as she approached her step by step with the little saddle on her arm.

The horse shifted from foot to foot, skin rippling like grass in the wind, but she didn't shy away. Dovey moved to her head and waited there for a few ticks while the horse tried to jerk away - Collins was good, giving her some slack without relinquishing his own control - and then grew bold enough to sniff and blow at the saddle with her big nostrils. When the filly had calmed, recognizing the familiar object, Dovey moved slowly down her side. It was time to get to the meat of this exercise, and move the filly a step closer to carrying a saddle with ease.

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Dovey]

45 Spring, 518 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

"You must've worked with horses a long time."

Dovey jumped a little at Collins's voice, causing the filly to shy away from the suddenly-bouncing saddle in her arms; so the girl couldn't answer the question for a moment, being too busy shifting the threatening object away from the horse, holding it on one arm while she patted the horse's flank with the other hand. Fortunately the scare hadn't been too bad, and Collins had held the lead rope firm, so there was no need to reposition the filly by the mounting block.

When at last the horse was settled, Dovey replied, "I have, yeah." And because that seemed too curt a response after such a long break between question and answer, she elaborated.

"See, growing up Freeborn in Kenash," she said, "my mother and dad didn't exactly get paid showers of gold and diamonds. If you could afford to pay well you probably had slaves to do the job for free. So I worked odd jobs, and by ten I was mostly grooming horses at the stables. Loved it there. Still love it here now."

She stopped then, a little awkward at having brought up her childhood. But then it was Collins who had brought it up with his question, she reasoned, not her. And she felt curiously comfortable around this rough working-man. He looked at her when he spoke, even as he kept half an eye on the filly to be sure she didn't spook. And he sounded - she couldn't explain it, it was something in his voice - he sounded as though he could be trusted. As though if she told him a secret, he'd make sure it didn't get out.

Shyke, that was poetical! She scoffed silently at herself. But she wasn't planning to tell him any secrets, after all, so there couldn't be any harm in the notion.

Collins reached up with one hand to stroke the filly's nose. "I envy you," he said. "Finding something you love that pays more than dust. Maybe it's in the person, though. Maybe you paid more attention than me to what there was to love."

The filly was still now, and Dovey climbed the three shallow steps of the mounting block, moving gently closer to the horse's back with the saddle. "You don't like horses?"

"I like 'em well enough." He sounded hesitant. "Just don't love 'em like you do, I guess."

Dovey thought he might feel awkward too, telling her that. "You're good enough with them, even if you don't love them," she said. "Speaking of, I'm going to put this saddle on her back now. You hold her tight like you've been doing."

He nodded, and Dovey returned her attention to the horse, pressing the saddle against her side. The filly shifted nervously, was calmed by the two stablehands, began fidgeting and stamping again as Dovey rubbed the side of the saddle on her flank. The process was almost meditative, although it took vigilance to read the horse's body language, to know when she should back off and when she could move forward successfully. It was all a game of trust.

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Dovey]

45 Spring, 518 AV
"Speech"
"Others"

When she thought the filly seemed calm enough to tolerate an escalation in the proceedings, Dovey pulled the saddle back a little before raising it slowly and steadily above the level of the filly's back. Blessing the young horse's small stature as well as the aid of the mounting step, she held her short arms straight and tense as she lowered the saddle downwards, allowing it to brush gently against the horse's spine.

She had to remain in that awkward position, her arms trembling, for a few more ticks than she would have liked, as the filly flinched and tried to shy away. Collins steadied their charge with a hand on her halter, casting Dovey a glance of silent camaraderie. When the horse was still enough that Dovey thought she wouldn't try to bolt and spill the saddle straight off her back, the girl allowed it to settle its weight more firmly onto the horse.

Now the proceedings seemed to speed; Collins seemed to know she needed to concentrate, and had left off talking, which made for a less entertaining but far more productive time. Dovey found herself flowing uninterrupted from one moment's work to the next, her focus snared by each of the horse's movements, the little signs of fear or, conversely, the signals of relaxation and trust towards her handlers.

The girl eased the saddle's weight more and more fully downwards; then, when after a couple chimes she could relinquish her grip and allow it to rest entirely on the filly's back, she turned to praising and soothing the twitchy creature. Next came the heavy sack of flour, meant to provide a similar sensation to that of a rider's weight in the saddle, but before Dovey fetched it she spent a chime leaning into the saddle, allowing the more easily adjusted feeling of her own weight to accustom the filly to the exercise which was to come.

When she went to pick up the flour the muscles of her arms, already weary, rebelled. Collins caught her eye, watching her from the side of the horse. "Let me," he said. "You can coach me through it."

Dovey's pride was appeased by that - and besides, her pride felt less substantial than her aching muscles. "All right," she replied, and went to take the horse's head. "You just want to lower it gently. Watch her ears and the skin of her flank...."

Later, after they had finished training and put the filly away in her stall, Collins turned to Dovey with half a grin. "That went well, I'd say."

"Could've been worse," Dovey agreed. "We make a good team."

"I'd hate disappearin' on each other now," said Collins. "We've gotten along famously."

"You'll be working here a little longer yet, won't you?" Dovey's brow furrowed.

"I will," Collins admitted. "Look, I'd like to see you outside work is all. Someplace a restless horse can't stop us talking. Meet me at the Stallion's Rear?"

"When, tonight?" Dovey was smiling.

"Tonight."

Boxcode credit: Karin Ironyach

[Madeira Dusk]

Grades Awarded!

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Dovey

Skills

• Socialization: 5xp
• Observation: 2xp
• Horsemanship: 4xp
• Body Building: 2xp
• Leadership: 2xp
• Endurance: 2xp
• Teaching: 1xp

Lores

• People: Collin the stablehand
• Socialization: introducing yourself
• Collin: Sunberth native
• Collin: world traveler
• Leadership: giving orders
• Leadership: delegation
• Horsemanship: handling a nervous filly
• Lore of finding one's passion
• Horsemanship: breaking a horse to the saddle
• Teaching: giving instruction

Awards & Retribution


Notes
But what happened with Collin?! I must know more!

An awesome read, as always. What is this superpower you have that makes all your mandatory job thread day-in-the-life stories so interesting? The world may never know. Enjoy your grade and PM me if you have any questions/concerns