Shut your eyes (Meville)

[Garran Frostfawn]

Shut Your Eyes by Snow Patrol Summer 61, 513 AV Garran did yet another scan of the sky, which was growing darker by the minute it seemed. And this was not the natural progression of evening – the gracious relinquishment of Syna to the up and coming sovereignty of her lover Leth. It was Summer, and Syna’s claim to the heavens was not due to give over for many hours yet. But the cloud cover that stretched from one horizon to the other clearly indicated otherwise. With an anxious shake of his head, as if he would wish the threatening storm away, Garran’s gaze dropped to the field beyond the huge barn. The rattle of oats in a bucket had managed to bring most of the horses to the gate, and from there they’d been led by the grooms into the shelter of the structure. The temperature was dropping almost as fast at the day was turning to premature night, and this looked to be no natural summer squall of rain. Peering into the deepening gloom, Garran craned his neck to see if the missing animal was on its way. With the sickness that had gone around earlier in the season, he didn’t want to risk even one of his precious charges. The gelding that was unaccounted for wasn’t one known for being recalcitrant or capricious, as some horse could be when a human wished for them to do one thing and they perversely chose the complete opposite course of action. Frowning, Garran slid through the narrow opening of the almost completely shut barn doors, and trudged out into the field. It was quite the extensive one, having been planned to hold any number of horses, and whatever hoofed livestock or other animals his Hold members might wish to contain therein. There was a small copse of trees, for some shelter from the elements, and it was to this Garran headed first. Catching no sight of the missing gelding, he walked on, to the very farthest corner of the immense field. As he walked, he felt the first tiny pricks of cold against his cheeks, and looking up once more, he noted the swirling descent of snow from the clouds above. This wasn’t surprising, given the falling temperatures, though it was hardly normal for a late Summer day. Pressing on, he moved towards the spacious run in shed at the furthest reach of the pasture – a three sided affair with a roof – big enough for ten or so horses to shelter in comfortably, be it from the infrequent heat of a hot summer day, or rain, or, as now, snow. It was built quite sturdily and had a manger that was typically kept full of hay, for the occupants of the field to nibble on. Thinking that the one he sought might have been distracted by such, Garran walked with a quicker pace to the shed. Even in the space of a few chimes, the tiny flakes were picking up size and speed. By the time he reached it, they were falling thickly, already coating the ground with a dusting of white. Stepping inside, he spotted his quarry, and instantly knew that there was something greatly amiss with the lad. The gelding was lying down – not on its chest as sleeping horses will sometimes do – but stretched out completely on its side, neck and head flat against the rough ground surface of the shed. He hurried over and knelt, feeling for a pulse and watching with alarm at the labored rise and fall of the ribs. The gelding was healthy – or had been healthy – and the only thing Garran could attribute this sudden onslaught of distress to was that which had raged through the herd in early Summer. It had been an odd and new illness, which had struck with a fury, though most of those afflicted had come through eventually. He thought they’d seen the last of it, and having it resurface was troublesome in the extreme. Patting the gelding tenderly on the quivering neck, Garran sat back on his heels. The horse looked to be in no condition to stand and walk to the barn. Plus there was always the possibility that the illness was spread with contact, and he might very well bring it right back to the rest of the stable’s inhabitants if they returned there. The final factor in his decision about what to do lay in the fact that, besides simply being supportive, there was little he could do to help the beast fight off the illness. With a sigh, Garran sat cross legged besides the gelding, stroking his shoulder and saying in a quiet voice, “Well, boy, looks like it’s just you and me and the snow.”

[Meville Brightshade]

Far out in the Frostfawns' pasture stood a pale, young man next to a wheelbarrow filled to the brim with rocks of various shape and size. His blonde hair shone bright against the pale white of the ground around him. The gradually increasing specks of pearl that left dark imprints where they landed upon his cloak seemed to reflect the stark yellow his locks. He shivered slightly, his bright blue eyes released from whatever trance he had been in a moment before. Two deep breaths were taken before he gripped the handles of the wheelbarrow and lifted it high enough to begin the trek back to the barn. Under his breath, several unpleasant scenarios were played out as his fuming brain found new and exciting ways to make his torturers pay for what he was being forced to do. Well, that wasn't entirely objectively accurate. Meville, always once to instigate trouble the moment an opportunity arises, had thought it a clever idea to wet the steps leading into the stables when no one was paying attention. It had caused several fantastic tumbles, though a few had received fairly substantial injuries. He'd been enjoying his work in the background, until someone found a few of his hairs frozen in the slippery steps. Of course, he was the only one smiling and the only human with blonde hair in the near vicinity. The Frostfawns hadn't really taken very kindly to his little practical joke. They had decided he was to clear out the rocks from the pasture. Usually a large group of Vantha went out twice a year to clear whatever rocks or large chunks of ice found their way into the fields to make it a safer environment for the many animals who lived in it. He'd been fairly good about the whole thing. After all, Meville wasn't really one for confrontation. After they'd caught him and given him a very stern explanation for why they were punishing him, they'd turned him loose upon the fields. That had been six bells ago. It wasn't as if Meville hadn't tried to go back. Several times, he had tried to just leave the enclosure, but the blasted Vantha had always managed to find him and shove him back into the fields. The little prank certainly had not been worth the consequences. His entire body felt like one giant aching unit. His hands were blistered, and his back could be likened to that of a snapped branch. Somehow, he'd managed to get most of the rocks into his wheelbarrow and was now headed back. The majority of the pasture had been clear, just a stone here or a good sized rock there. That had been what had taken him the longest: finding the things. It had been a good long time since he'd last tried to escape, and quite frankly, he no longer had the energy for it. He just wanted to return to the stables, curl up under his blankets, and sleep the rest of the day away. Meville felt it wise to abstain from bothering the Frostfawns for a while. It was better they just forget about him so he wouldn't have to anything like this ever again. His breathing was heavy and his steps clumsy as he slowly moved towards whence he'd come. The snowfall had gradually become difficult to see through. It didn't help that the sky was dark with both the clouds and the setting of the sun. The bitter cold was slightly impaired by Meville's layers of clothes, but it wasn't enough to keep him entirely safe from the biting winds that began to churn around him. What had started as an everyday sort of snow had quickly become a much more dangerous blizzard. Meville decided the wheelbarrow was not nearly as important as his life, so he left it behind as he quickened his pace. It didn't take long for him to become completely disoriented in the blinding white of the snow all around him. Everywhere he turned, there was nothing but the silent downpour. There was a slight feeling of panic that started in the pit of his stomach as he pressed on against the storm. The feeling was quickly alleviated as something dark appeared in the corner of his eye. Whatever it was, it was big enough to protect him from the freezing death the blizzard promised him. His pace increased to a light jog in the direction of what he quickly realized was a lean-to. As he neared it, he discovered he was no longer alone. Beneath the roof and between the three walls lay a horse and a man. Meville hurried into the space, shivering and stuttering out, "A-ah! H-hello th-there! M-mind if I j-join you?" He didn't really wait for much of a response as he shook of the snow that had latched itself to his white cloak. Once that was done, he moved into a corner farthest away from the entrance and squatted down, blowing on his numbed hands to bring back some feeling. His eyes scanned the shelter. The horse wasn't of much interest to him, though it was certainly odd that it was laying in such a way. His focus was mostly devoted to the Vantha man. He seemed... Familiar. He wasn't entirely sure why, but with several inches already accumulated at the entrance, Meville figured he'd have plenty of time to figure it out.