Flashback Horses and Courses

[Isana Lin]

9th of Spring, 508 AV

"You call this stew? My father's dog has had better meals." Isana narrowed her eyes and stared at the squire standing on the other side of the serving counter. A thin rake of a boy, tall like a leather strap stretched too far, dark hair cut messily short, arrogant little eyes squinting out of a face that was all angles and cheekbone. Probably a few years younger than her, though that category included most of her fellow squires now. Unfortunately. She rapped a serving spoon on the bench, thick goblets of stew dripping onto the charred wood.

"I dare say your family hound provides a useful service." And has the good grace not to bark about it. Arrogant little swine. Isana's shift in the kitchens was almost over and Delan's rubbish was the last thing she wanted to deal with. Just a few more chimes, and she could escape to the stables, free of supposedly-noble brats. She scowled down her nose at him. "Do you not have training this morning, Delan? Take your meal and get you gone."
"I would, if I could eat it!" Delan dropped the bowl to the counter, arms folded across his chest.
"Perhaps you're not trying hard enough." Isana rolled her eyes. Delan was new to the order, and it showed. A more experienced squire would have been grateful enough for anything that resembled food which, she had to admit, with her skill in the kitchen was probably an even bet at best.
"I am trying!" Delan scowled right on back.
"Yes, exceptionally." Isana tapped the bench, impatient.
"Make something else." He stared at the bowl as though it contained a hunk of human flesh. "This is disgusting."
"Mhm. I see. It must be, everyone else is clearly repulsed." Isana raised her eyebrows, waving the spoon around the crammed dining hall, voice dripping sarcasm. It helped that a handful of droplets landed on Delan's, likely expensive, tunic. "If you've no desire to eat this morning, far be it from me to stop you. I expect I'll have to tell Marianna you found her stew disgusting, of course..."
The boy's eyes widened to fair approximations of saucers as he snatched the bowl back from the counter. "No, no. It's okay." That did the trick. Funny, how he could shrug off her threats like rainwater, but the mere mention of the kindly chaperon was enough to have him staring guilty holes in his boots. Finally Delan shot her a lingering glare and retreated back to the tables muttering something unflattering about dogs.

Isana raised the spoon, waved goodbye, and returned her attention to the stew, mind on the waiting stables.

OOCLet me know if the date needs changing.

[Wynn Argall]

___

"Wynn! Wynn, get up or you are going to miss breakfast!" Abathur's voice seemed to float into his head like a knife sliding across stone. Groaning and rolling over to hide from the unpleasant screech, Wynn attempted to revisit the bright and enticing land of dreamy, purple clouds he had just been bouncing upon. The image and happy feelings gone, Wynn let out another groan as he felt the hands of his friend shake him awake. "Wynn! Wynn!" Mumbling out a "Morning", he finally sat up, rubbing the sleep from his heavy eyes and groggily squinting around the room. The first thing he saw was the rounded, pudgy face of Abathur, his slightly too wide eyes glaring at him in frustration. "I warned you eating that pudding last night would get you in the morning!"

Wynn frowned, rubbing his eyes again. "Get up! Get dressed! We were supposed to be in the kitchens a bell ago!" Finally realizing what Abathur was saying, Wynn's eyes opened wide as he threw the covers off of his body and jumped down onto the floor, scrambling about the floorboards for his trousers and jacket. "Finally." Abathur's frustration was quite apparent. Wynn offered an apologetic shrug in the midst of his quest for clothing before locating and pulling on his trousers. Once that was taken care of, he wiggled his way under his bed, snatching his jacket from the far side. Pulling it on over his cotton shirt, Wynn laced his pants tight, messily tucking in the excess of his shirt's skirt. By then, Abathur had returned with a pair of socks and Wynn's boots, both of which were received with a grateful smile.

"I swear," Abathur started into him again, watching as Wynn hustled his feet into his boots and fumbled with the laces. "There is not a single man, woman, or beast more slow to wake than you." The annoyance in his voice had faded, making the statement more of a joke than an actual criticism. Wynn offered a crude hee-haw of a donkey to further emphasize Abathur's point resulting in the two of them chuckling as they burst through the door of their dormitory, thumping their way down the hall towards the kitchens. They didn't make it far before Ser Wade Brock blocked their path with his ever present frown. "Shouldn't you boys be in the kitchens around now?" Both Wynn and Abathur stared at the ground uttering apologetic "yes sir"s. 'That's what I thought." He paused, evaluating the two youngsters before him. "Well, I don't want you causing a ruckus on you're way down there, so I'll just take you myself. Come on."

He turned and headed off towards the kitchen, both Abathur and Wynn close behind him. The two boys exchanged looks of awe at both the back of Ser Wade's head and each other. He was a well respected knight, but his strict adherence to the rules had earned him the general distaste of the more easy-going squire population. Both Wynn and Abathur had only been squires for about a season and had yet to form their own opinions about the man that was now escorting them to the kitchens. From both of their perspectives, Ser Wade seemed to be a fine fellow indeed.

Before they arrived, Ser Varner met them just outside the kitchens, an exasperated look on his face. "Wynn. Abathur. Where have you been?" He sounded much more worried than surprised. Abathur apologized for their tardiness, but Ser Varner seemed to be preoccupied with something else on his mind. Turning to Ser Wade, he gave the knight a bow of thanks before turning to Abathur. "You're with me today, Abathur. Wynn..." He frowned as he looked down at the disheveled mess that was Wynn.

His head flicked back to look at the entrance of the kitchen just as a teenaged squire with a slight scowl began to exist. "Ah! Squire Lin, is it?" Motioning that she join them, Ser Varner's face curved into his tight lipped smile. "You're heading to the stables today to work on riding, yes? Take Wynn with you. He could use the experience." Before anyone could say anything, Ser Varner took off down the hall, pulling Abathur behind them. Ser Wade, apparently content that everything had worked out in the end, followed after Ser Varner after offering the two newly acquainted squires a gruff nod of the head. Staring after Abathur and Ser Varner, Wynn blinked a few times before turning wide eyes to Squire Lin.

"Hello."

___

[Isana Lin]

"I-" Isana began but she was talking to empty air. Ser Varner was gone, sweeping down the corridor like an overly-cheerful whirlwind, leaving Isana and the bedraggled boy – what did he same his name was? Wynn? - like clueless debris in his wake. Isana's scowl deepened a fraction. This wasn't how the day was meant to go at all. Each pace the knight took down the corridor seemed to be another pace away from her day's riding.

"Hello." Sometimes it was all you could do to make the best of things. The same was true of dealings with both knights and natural disasters, meagre difference though it was in Varner's case. The squire was staring at her with bleary eyes faintly reminiscent of a squirrel, garbed in clothing that looked as though it had been tied to a ballista bolt and fired in his general direction rather than dressing in the conventional fashion. Isana knew that look, had seen it half a dozen times already that morning. "Slept in, did we?"

The boy's eyes darted away and found something intriguing on his bootlaces. Isana swiped a wayward drop of stew from her shirt and regretted not wearing something warmer. It was certainly hot enough over the kitchen fires, but the corridors were the same blocks of cold stone they had always been, greedily sucking the heat from the air and the squires occupying it, deprived of the sun's warmth this early in the day. Isana stumbled forward as a shoulder drove into her back, a squire wearing mail and an easy grin pushing her aside and swaggering into the corridor as though he owned it.

"Sorry Dreamy. You were blocking the door." He offered, gave a shrug that rattled like a dropped coinpurse, and waltzed down the corridor like a ship's captain inspecting the berths. Isana sent a scowl barrelling down the corridor after him, where it crashed into his oblivious back without so much as a ripple in the mail. "I hope you're planning to wear a helmet with that, Tyban. We wouldn't want you losing a brain cell. The other one might get lonely."
"Wear a helmet? And cover up a head like this?" Tyban turned, running a hand through the military-short stubble that covered his head. "You really are monstrous, Dreamy. The thought!" He vanished around a bend in the corridor, the gentle drum-roll of his chuckling lingering a moment longer. Isana watched him go. Almost five years, and she still wasn't quite sure what to make of the squire. From Mithryn, as was she, but besides a shared hometown the two had little else in common. Tyban was a young man of swords, armour and, oddly enough, pottery. Whereas she, even as a squire of nearly six years, was still decidedly bookish. They'd been training together off and on for most of that time and she still struggled to decide whether or not he was joking.

Nevermind that, Wynn was still watching her with those dinner-plate eyes. "Missed breakfast too? I didn't see you in the dining halls this morning." Isana gave a little, resigned shrug, rough ponytail rising and falling with her shoulders. "I guess it doesn't matter now, since we're going to be late already. Thanks for that, by the way.” She fixed him with a credible attempt at a glare, though the effect was spoiled by another squire emerging from the door and nudging her further to the side. Isana gave up on the glare and continued. “The meals have already gone off, but I might be able to grab something if Rina hasn't attacked the leftovers yet. Wait here a tick. Perhaps two."

Isana ducked back into the rapidly-draining dining hall, nudging her way against the flow of traffic like a fish struggling upstream, all elbows and muttered apologies. The pots had been packed away, a second shift of squires – likely those in some variety of trouble with their patrons – stepping up to the benches for cleaning duty. Isana had been there a handful of times at the bidding of one tutor or another. Never her patron though. Isana barely saw Sera Taylor and was quite happy to keep it that way. Secretly, she suspected Taylor was too.

Bare tables shone with water beneath the ministrations of the kitchen's squires, a dozen half-hearted cloths wiping the same surface until it was, if not gleaming, than at least free of dust."Back so soon, Isana?" That would have been Rina, another senior squire, munching on a roll with dry amusement as she kept a watchful eye on the maelstrom of reluctant bodies doing their best to clean without physically cleaning.
"Had to make sure you were doing it right." Isana snatched a roll from the pile resting next to Rina, carefully stacked and ready for action. Rina's own personal quiver.
"Huh. I'll bet." Rina tossed a roll at her head. It bounced off, and Isana managed to snatch it before it hit the floor. Some habits died hard. "You can hide in here if you like, I saw Varner on the prowl on the way in."
"I know. He caught me." Isana raised her arms helplessly, a roll in each hand.
"Oh? What was it about?" A season ago, Varner had sent a page to the quartermaster looking for an adjustable longsword. It had been two hours before he'd returned, shamefaced and empty handed, only for the knight to inform him there was no such thing. The man had a decidedly dangerous sense of humour.

Isana recounted the story to Rina in shorthand. How, in short, she'd found herself saddled with a boy who probably didn't know spurs from stirrup. The saddled bit got a laugh – enough to draw the attention of one of the nearby squires, before Rina pointed back to the bench and gave a pointed cough. Finally, Isana made her excuses and managed to extradite herself from both the conversation and the kitchen, leaving Rina to her contemplative supervision.

Wynn was still waiting in the corridor and Isana pressed the rolls into his hand. "Most of it's leftovers from last night. Sorry, but it's the best I can do this late." Not that it would be a problem if you'd arrived on time. Isana bit her lip. Maybe this was one of Varner's tests? To see if she was ready, if she could have a squire herself one day? She wasn't that far from knighthood, after all. Perhaps he wanted to see how she would handle the responsibility. It was a thin hope but Isana clung to it, largely because the alternative meant accepting that she simply had, once again, been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. "You may wish to eat that on the way. Riding on an empty stomach can be a touch uncomfortable." As could riding on a full stomach, for that matter.

Isana set a brisk pace down the corridor, taking the stairs two at a time, weaving around the morning crowds as they emerged, blinking, into the thin streets criss-crossing the districts like finger-dug moats in a giant's sandcastle. Her breath was coming just that bit faster by the time her feet touched the cobblestones. Let Wynn keep up, if he had a mind to. It wasn't exhaustion, not by a long shot, but if the choice was a light jog downstairs or a sore backside after the ride, she would take the jog any day.

She smelt Windmount Stables before she saw it. Manure and sweat, the ever-present perfume of the noble mounts of the knights of Syliras. Isana's nose reflexively curled up as they pushed toward the source. The stables may have smelt like home, but that did not mean they smelt pleasant. There was a crowd gathered around the fence this morning, a pair of grey-shirted physicians standing alongside labourers and, Isana felt a twinge of crimson seep into her cheeks, a gaggle of unshirted sailors. She inched forward, catching bits and pieces through the gaps in the crowd.

"Tiadens." She breathed. A pair of horses – warhorses, she corrected herself, stood together in the field, a matching pair of dummies standing half-way down the field, staring at them with eyes of straw. Each beast was easily larger than the mixed bred she'd trained upon and, judging by the look in those black eyes, twice as bad tempered. But the crowd's attention was not on the horses.

A man in plate sat atop each horse, a lance resting in one hand and a heavy shield sporting a stylised Windoak in another. Both knights, then. Great helms sat atop gleaming plate, more pot than helmet, thin slits revealing little more of the rider than the hint of an eye. The knight closest to her pointed at the dummy with his lance and nodded to the man alongside him, seemingly oblivious to the small crowd watching. Considering the size of that helmet, he likely was. His companion nodded back and levelled his lance at the dummy. Isana frowned for a moment before she realised that the tip of the lance was shaking. "Wynn, look at the lance." She raised an arm to point, nearly jabbing a blue-dressed woman in the process. "Someone has nerves."

Nervous or not, the knight sunk his heels in and the tiaden surged forward, hooves whipping the dirt like thunderclaps, lance levelled at the dummy, his companion watching impassively. The crowd inhaled as one being.

[Wynn Argall]

___

Squire Lin's disapproval shone through her down-turned lips clear as day. Wynn fidgeted beneath the girl's gaze, averting his eyes at her comment regarding his sleeping patterns. He hadn't meant to sleep in, but even after a season of being a squire, Wynn still hadn't managed to force himself into the habit of early rising. The other squires seemed to get a handle on it much faster than he had, but at the very least he had Abathur to help him out. Squire Lin, on the other hand, didn't seem especially keen to do the same. The halls were starting to fill up as both squires and knights began to enter the stone passageways, and as always with the people came the bustling, bumping, and shoving that Wynn and the rest of his Sylirian peers can grown up on.

From his view of the ground, Wynn watched Squire Lin's boots stumble to the side. Glancing up, he found the source of the movement to be an armor clad squire with a cocky grin strutting his way towards him. Moving out of the man's path, Wynn pressed his back against the wall to allow the other squire ample room to pass. His wide, grey eyes staring impressed at the squires easy gait and confident demeanor. He threw a comment to Squire Lin before traipsing down the hall. It was a teasing exchange between the two of them, though Wynn didn't quite understand the nickname "Dreamy" at all, as Squire Lin seemed more of a "Grumpy" or a "Sower-scowl". As the man turned the corner, Wynn's focus was still decidedly placed upon Squire Lin. His expression was a mix between confusion and concentration as he tried to envision a world in which the girl before him was, indeed, a "Dreamy". Nothing immediately came to mind.

With the distraction of Squire Tyban no longer there to keep Squire Lin's attention, she turned back to him. Once more the disdain rolled off her lips, though it wasn't nearly as vehement as it could have been. It felt much more passive, as if the only expectation she held for him or any of his ilk was that of disappointment. At her inquiry as to whether he'd been fed or not, Wynn turned a slightly pinker shade and shook his head. She didn't seem surprised in the least. At the mention of their tardiness falling into his domain of responsibility, Wynn's already pink cheeks blushed an even darker red as he nodded, whispering an, "I'm sorry..." under Squire Lin's shortlived glare. Glancing down at the floor again to hide a slight twitch of mirth on his lips at the squire's interruption of Squire Lin's silent reprimand, his eyes flicked up to stare wide with surprise and excitement at her final statement.

Food was something Wynn never didn't want. Shouting out a, "Thank you, Squire Lin!" over the growing din of the hallway, Wynn watched her disappear into the undulating wave of bodies that had begun to emerge from the kitchen doors. Unsure of what to do while Squire Lin procured him vittles, Wynn leaned back on the wall once more and tried to conserve the amount of space he was taking up. Most people passed without a second glance at him, though a few raised their brows at Wynn's apparent lack of anything better to do than loaf about in a busy hallway.

As Wynn scanned the crowed for any sign of a returning savoir carrying what was going to be only food he was going to see for the next several bells, his heart sunk as he caught the attention of two female squires who shared the same patron as he. They approached with menacing smiles and a their terrible high pitched laughter. "Why, is that Wynn?" The first girl, a blonde, curly haired harpy who always pronounced his name as though she were running up a hill with her voice, asked in her screech. The other, a short haired, brunette with small eyes and a huge mouth nodded, her own high pitched whine of a voice adding to her friend's. "I think it is." She rolled her eyes, nudging the other. "But this one looks a little messy. Maybe it's his homeless brother."

The two girls laughed for a moment while Wynn stared down at the floor, wishing Squire Lin for entire week rather than the company of the two girls for a moment more. "So Wynn..." Meera, the blonde, crossed her arms and raised a brow at him. "What exactly are you doing just standing here anyway? Waiting for scraps from the kitchen?" She laughed, mimicking the the sounds of a mouse in mockery - though Wynn found the impersonation suited her quite nicely. Birma, the other, rolled her eyes once more - a common occurrence that Wynn had begun to suspect was an uncontrollable tick. "He's obviously acting the hound that's been told to stay, Meera." A condescending grin twisted at her lips. "Otherwise he would have run away by now."

The two girls found that to be a rather hilarious point, mimicking Wynn's wide-eyed terror and stumbling back some before falling into another fit of mirth. Wynn kept his eyes focused on the ground, but his cheeks still warmed to the girls' teasing regardless. Their laughter stopped as Birma nudged Meera into silence. "Is that Isana?" At mention of his mentor-for-the-day's name, Wynn glanced up, following Birma's uncomfortable gaze to find Squire Lin's scowling face pushing past the squires to return to where she'd left. "We should get out of here." Meera's voice sounded positively scared. "I know she was the one that slapped us with that double shift in the stables the other day. I'm not doing that again." Grabbing Birma's hand, the two girls hurried off into the crowd as Squire Lin returned with bread.

Gratefully taking both the bread and Squire Lin's unspoken protection, Wynn offered her a appreciative grin before biting off a chunk of the roll. Squire Lin's suggestion that he eat fell on deaf ears as Wynn started into the second roll, nodding at the suggestion anyway. As she started off into the mess of people, Wynn kept close to her heels, not wanting to get left behind. Though he had been to the stables before, he wasn't intimately acquainted with the fastest routes by which to get there, which meant if he lost sight of Squire Lin he'd be wandering about the castle for who knew how long. She moved incredibly briskly, something Wynn had always found impressive when there were so many people pushing and shoving about. In her wake, Wynn was able to keep up, though he found his breath coming a bit quicker than it usually did when he ambled his way through the cobbled streets of Syliras.

Wynn knew they were approaching the stables when the heady scent of manure, sweat, and mud pushed its way into his nose. Coughing quietly, Wynn hurried to catch up to the ever increasing pace of the squire ahead of him. As the stables came into view so too did a large crowd that had gathered around one of the fields. There were some official looking men garbed in grey, which Wynn figured were the only people there that had been asked to be there. The rest of the crowd consisted of common laborers and sailors - who's shirtlessness confounded Wynn, as his fingers felt a bit numb in the chilly morning air -, both of whom seemed intently invested in whatever was happening in the field.

Continuing to stick to his squire leader, Wynn heard her whisper "Tiadens". His interest piqued, Wynn pushed and shoved his own way through the mass of bodies until he was able to see the field between two sailor's hips. The smell of the sea mixed with sweat combined with the pungent aroma of the stables to create a little pocket of stench right in the middle of Wynn's face. Wrinkling his nose, he decided the spectacle on the field was more important than his own sensitive comforts. There were two armored figures atop the warhorses, both of whom Wynn assumed were knights as the Windoak insignia was evident on both shields. The two figures were completely covered from head to foot in armor, making any distinguishable features, aside from the sheer size of the one, uniform.

The larger knight seemed to be saying something to the smaller who raised his lance in preparation, aiming it towards the dummies down the way. Squire Lin nudged him then, stabbing a finger dangerously close to a woman dressed in blue. Indeed, the lance seemed to have developed a case of the jitters. Wynn clenched his hands then, desperately wishing the other knight's apprehension away. He had little knowledge of jousting, but any squire or knight knew that uncertainty was one of the biggest enemies one could face in the training grounds or the battlefield.

As the horse charged forward, Wynn drew and held a breath with the rest of the crowed, his eyes focused firmly on the rider. It happened very quickly, but it seemed as though it took ages. As the lance connected with the dummy, the rider rose up off of the horse, as if there were strings attached to his knees and elbows and one of the gods had reached down and gently plucked him from his seat. The horse continued on, leaving the man hovering in the air for half a breath before he shot backwards, arms flailing, before landing with a solid thud upon the dirt. There was silence for a few moments as the shock of the spectacle settled over the crowd. It was broken by the hefty laughter of the other armored knight, his plate shaking beneath the deep bellows of his mirth. Cued by the knight's enjoyment of the fall, the rest of the crowed joined in, hooting and hollering.

The other knight rose slowly, disoriented by the fall. His horse had returned to him, pushing at him with his head. The crowed continued on, as raucous as any congregation of people with nothing better to do. By then, the grey shirted men who had been standing about had entered the field and were hurrying to assist the fallen knight, attempting to remove his armor but receiving only half-hearted swats to slow their advance. One of the sailors in front of Wynn turned to the man beside him, slapping Wynn on the face as he did so. Stumbling back, Wynn rubbed his nose, keeping an eye out for any more stray limbs with the potential to bring him any more harm. He turned to Squire Lin, twitching his nose some to assuage the smarting, "...We're not... doing that today, are we?" The apprehension was laid on heavy in his tone.

___

[Isana Lin]

Armour thudded into grass in a cacophony of clattering metal, ringing like a dropped church bell, the smaller knight sprawling in the carefully-tended pasture in a tangle of limbs and mangled dignity. Isana winced on his behalf along with most of the crowd, muttered conversations immediately forgotten, the only sound the seemingly-distant cries of the city. Finally, a thick rumble of laughter burst from the training grounds and shattered the crowd's brief silence. Conversations and howls of mirth surged into the air,like a dam breaking its banks, voices rushing to fill the void. Slowly, groggily, the fallen knight heaved himself to his feet, swaying like a late-night tavern-goer. Isana saw him swat feebly at one of the grey-shirted physicians before the faded sackcloth shirt of a departing labourer hid him from view.

Isana suppressed a smile at the trepidation in Wynn's voice. The young squire looked as though she had proposed he serve as the dummy rather than the knight. "Falling on our rears, you mean? I should hope not, particularly as we shall just be riding today." The crowd was starting to disperse, and Isana began the time-consuming process of weaving her way to the stables around the departing gawkers. The show had been brief, for all the attention it had drawn, and likely most of the crowd would be off to whatever else it was that filled their days. It was an unfortunate fact of life that everything in Syliras was a spectacle – particularly when the knights got involved, but it was something she had never quite gotten used to. Didn't all these people have something else they should have been doing? Tending to fields, or children, or any of the other myriad tasks that kept the city turning? One of the sailors trundled past, back bent under a heavy-looking basket loaded with what smelt like fish. Isana stood back and let him go, half out of politeness and half out of fear of what a basketload of fish would do to her already soup-dotted clothes. "But I suppose anything is possible. Come along."

The stables were more a loose collection of buildings than one defined structure, three large barns squatting around a number of riding arenas – though none quite as large as the one where the unfortunate knight had executed his stunning aerial dismount. Further back a small stone cottage sat atop a gentle rise – the Windmount residence -, set behind a wooden fence to discourage wandering horse the little dwelling looked out of place with the bulk of the city towering over it like some overprotective sibling. One other barn lurked far off from the others, confined to a distant corner like an unwelcome wedding guest. "That's where ma'am Serena keeps anything too ill or foreign to ride." She swept a hand over it quickly. "It's usually empty, unless you count the cobwebs in the rafters.

"That is where the horses we're riding are kept.” Her finger settled on the closest of the three barns, a heavyset building with a steady stream of people flowing in both directions – most of them leading a horse with various degrees of success. ”Or those for sale, if you want to buy one." Isana couldn't imagine a sillier thing. What would a knight want to buy a horse for? Oh Isana liked riding, sure enough, but there was a field's worth of difference between riding a horse and owning one. Besides, the order owned the city in nearly every way that mattered, by and large. Horses where all a part of the standing arrangement the stables had with the order – assuming you had your paperwork in order. Which she did. Isana patted her satchel, confirming for the third time that morning that Ser Verellin's writ of permission was still carefully filed away.

"You have ridden before, have you not?” This was going to be an exceptionally long day if she was expected to teach the boy to ride as well. Isana paused outside the barn, half-leaning on the building's wall while the stablehand saw to a walrus of a man protesting the price of some breed or another. She tried to avoid paying too much attention to the conversation. Whatever poor creature ended up suffering beneath the man's bulk would not be long for the world. Considering his size, beneath may have been too generous. Within would have been more appropriate.

"Three hundred for a proper horse! Absolutely ridiculous, I wouldn't dare rob a man like that. You're a thief is what you are. I'll tell you what, two hundred for the war horse and not a copper more. Generous offer, too. Very generous. I've got guards to pay on top of this, you know." The walrus – Zeltivan, if she was any judge of accents - slapped a meaty fist into the barn's wall, as if to hammer his point in to the building itself. The stablehand twisted in place before the man's tirade like a rat desperately looking for a hole in the floor to escape in to. Isana tried not to make eye contact, instead raking her eyes over the barn's inhabitants. Sorry, friend. This fight is yours.

Behind the arguing pair, horses shifted in their stalls. Outside, the streets may have been littered with wandering spectators but the stables themselves were a model of military efficiency. Vathan had once told her that the stables' first owner had been a knight, and it showed. Lanky stablehands, of almost as many different colours and builds as the creatures they tended to, moved between horses like overly-cautious insects – brushing a horse down here, filling a water trough there, leading another out to a waiting owner. Always buzzing, always moving, always darting from one task to another – insofar as one could dart around horses without acquiring a cracked rib.

"No, no. Absolutely not. Fetch the stablemaster, I'll speak with him."

Isana Lin was not the sort of person who rolled her eyes. It was, her father had said, a disgusting habit. However; in that moment, she came very close to understanding why so many found the idea so attractive. She contended herself with a bemused smirk and kicked a stone out from beneath her boot. May as well. It looked as though they would be waiting for some time. She glanced at Wynn and mouthed merchants, sarcasm dripping from her expression like wax from a candle. She didn't say it though. That would have been improper. "I haven't seen you before, Wynn. How long you have been with the order?"

[Wynn Argall]

___

Squire Lin's assurance that they were - most likely - not going to practice jousting allowed Wynn a relieved sigh as he glanced back at the two knights discussing what he could only assume were the reasons behind the spectacular dismount. As his head turned back around to face the other squire, he caught her shoulder disappearing into the mass of bodies that had begun to shuffle here and there now that the entertainment had ended. Ducking and weaving through the endless array of elbows, hips and knees, Wynn hustled his way through the rising tumult of the crowd, bouncing off of a particularly portly man and right into step behind Squire Lin, who in turn stopped to let a man carry a particularly fetid stink of a basket across their path. Blinking back a grimace from the over-powering smell of the sea, Wynn perked up his ears to listen to Squire Lin's final address before the stables. His slight grimace became a full on frown. He barely knew the head from the hind of the beasts they were supposed to be riding. His chances of recreating the scene they'd just beheld were far too high for any kind of confidence to soothe his worries.

It didn't take long for them to reach their destination. The city of Syliras was such that most things weren't terribly distance from each other, though Wynn was sure there were at least several bells dedicated purely to transportation between here and there in the city and its outlying provinces. While both Wynn and Squire Lin had remained rather quiet through the final stretch towards the stables, the rest of the crowd had not. There was shouting, whistling, sobbing, laughing, and a myriad more of sounds that a human or any other living creature could make. Wynn found himself focused mostly on what he would do if they were indeed jousting. It wasn't proper for a squire to flat out deny the wishes of a knight, and while Wynn didn't want to be disrespectful, he was finding it hard to cope with the possibility of jousting training. Horses weren't an animal he had a special affinity for, if anything they were a bit terrifying with their impressive muscles and strange, dark eyes. He wasn't afraid of the horses, per say, but they were certainly something he had yet to conquer. Swinging a lance while atop a creature with a mind all its own was disconcerting to say the least.

When Squire Lin spoke again, Wynn jerked out of his daze to stare for a few ticks in confusion at her pointing figure before following the gesture to the more secluded building she was referring to. Not certain what to do with the newly given information that the useless looking building was exactly as it appeared to be, Wynn just nodded and gave her an interested, "Oh, I see." Her hand moved once more to rest on the closest of the three barns where people moved in and out like bustling ants each with a separate mission. The majority had horses following behind them, though of that majority only a few did so with the air of experience. At Squire Lin's brief explanation of the buildings, Wynn nodded once more, though this time his, "Oh, I see!" held a much more believable enthusiasm than the first.

After patting her bag, giving it a short, searching glance, Squire Lin rounded on him with another question. From the tone in her voice, the correct answer was, "Yes, of course!". Wynn, however, wasn't sure if it was worse to lie or tell the truth. In an attempt at compromise, Wynn just made a choking sound that, thankfully, was ignored by Squire Lin's increasing interest in a rotund, mountain of a creature's growing volume as he protested the price of the horse he intended to purchase. He spoke with a condescending, accented wheeze, suggesting he was of foreign origin. Wynn's knowledge of both geography and other languages was incredibly slim, making the placement of the accent impossible.

Not picking up on Squire Lin's more subtle approach to listening, Wynn stood beside her, his wide eyes fixated on both the walrus man and the stablehand. He couldn't understand why some people were just so difficult. Things never went the right way for everyone all the time. Making a fuss of things was just throwing salt into an unavoidable wound. As the man blustered out he required the stable master, Squire Lin caught his attention, mouthing "merchants" before settling into a disdainful sneer in no particular direction. Wynn had met plenty of merchants that were neither as large nor as demanding as the one before them, but he gave a sagacious nod anyway, agreeing with whatever statement Squire Lin had intended to make.

When she asked her question, Wynn had let his eyes drift back towards the meaty merchant, who now stood twiddling his thumbs as the stable hand hurried off into the bustle of the barn, presumably in search of the stable master who's presence had been asked for. Darting his attention back to Squire Lin, Wynn blinked a few times in question before piecing together that she'd asked him a question. "How what?" Shaking his head in apology, Wynn stuttered out an, "O-oh! With the Order?" Clicking his tongue in thought, Wynn moved his fingers back and fourth as he counted the days. "Eighty... About a season, Squire Lin." Fairly satisfied that his approximation was corrected, Wynn offered her a smile. "Not very long, I guess."

There was a slight commotion behind him, a horse with a temper perhaps. Wynn continued on, however, as the noise was quieted rather quickly. "How long have you been in the Order?" Frowning, Wynn added with an apologetic tone, "If you don't mind me asking."

___

[Isana Lin]

"I don't mind. Five years? Thereabouts." Isana grinned, a familiar surge of pride tugging at her lips. Five years within the order was no small thing. She was nearly a knight in every way that mattered . Her time in the dormitories would soon come to an end, and she would be free to make her own way in the world. As it should be.

Unlike Wynn. One season? No, less than a season. He was barely a squire at all. Isana wondered if he'd even seen a horse before, much less ridden one. Was Ser Varner trying to get him killed? Then again, he had said that he could ride, had he not? She was fairly certain that was what the squire had said. "I latched on to Ser Vathan at Mithryn and managed to convince him that it was less trouble to have me along than to send me back. He bought me back here and I've been in Syliras ever since, more or less."

More or less, save Cawdor's thrice-cursed wilderness expeditions. She shook her head, as if dislodging the memories was as simple as shaking off an instinct. Memories of dank, rain-drenched trees and uneven camps with the dirt and the rot and the muck seeping up through your bedroll while you tried to sleep so that you were soaked to the bone and shivering by the time you rose to the burnt-out remnants of your fire in the morning. That in itself was not so bad. Isana could withstand the mud, the wilderness – perhaps even enjoy the solitude, given a dry day – but there were other, deeper memories there.

Pale, flickering faces in the dark and – She willed herself to stop thinking. to focus on the present. The beat of hooves, the stinking sweat of horses and riders alike, the scraping and rattling of a half-dozen carefully-scrubbed beasts on the worn timber of their stalls. Her own breathing, the steady beat of her heart in her chest. Wynn, wide-eyed nearby, watching the merchant's tirade with all the carefully deliberate restraint of a herd of charging animals. The here and the now. Slowly, gradually, the past retreated. Just bad memories. That was all they were. Memories and bad dreams could not harm her. Isana forced a smile and returned her attention to the present.

"You know, you really are awful at eavesdropping." She flicked an eye lazily to the bloated merchant's back, arms folded heavily across his enormous gut as though to keep it from spilling upwards as well as down, left, right and forward, beady little eyes squinting at the bustling horses and stablehands before him as though he owned them. Which, she thought, in another time and place, perhaps he could have. Not here though. Not under the knighthood's watch. Wynn may as well have been jumping up and down on the spot waving a pennant for all that his staring eyes spoke of subtlety. Blessedly, the merchant's attention was elsewhere. On his next meal, perhaps?

"You need not stare." Isana whispered, hardly audible above the shuffling of the horses. She doubted the merchant could hear her, but caution cost nothing. ”I suspect you could hear him from the districts without lip-reading. Not that I imagine you would want to." He was still standing there, occasionally turning to glance at the sun, as though in some tremendous hurry. "Come on. Might as well head in. We'll be standing here until our feet drop off at this rate." She sent another loose stone skittering across the grass to reinforce the point and ducked between the barn's wide doors. "I cannot claim to speak for you, but I'm rather attached to mine."

Isana's nose wrinkled a little further as they stepped into the barn. The odour of horse was strong enough on fields but here, concentrated amidst the press of animals and people, the smell was so thick it felt like breathing water. Isana grinned as she darted behind a stablehand, staggering forward, clutching an oversized bucket of water like grim death. Oh yes, it stank – horses and feed both - but it stank like home, and that made it all so much more bearable. She kept one hand on her satchel, ready to flash Verellin's writ at any overtly-curious stablehand. To her regret, no-one so much as raised an eyebrow. They must have looked no different to the half-dozen hands dotting the place, her in her riding gear and Wynn looking as though he'd just been dragged from a bale of hay somewhere. Certainly, the walrus sparred them no more than a dismissive blink as they darted past him into the stables proper. "So, Varner's your patron than? How did that happen?" She asked, making her way to a stall at the end of the barn. She thought of saying more, but left it at that. No point terrifying him with rumours.

[Wynn Argall]

___

Wynn found his posture straighten some as he moved to try to find a more formal posture to take with what he now realized was someone by far his senior in both time and experience. Though her words had conveyed a casual almost nonchalant recount of her time with the order, her tone held within it a pride that Wynn could only wish for. She wasn't haughty about it, but there was a decidedly confident lilt in her words as she continued on to give a brief explanation as to how she joined the Order. Having recently joined himself, Wynn had little idea who the knight was she was referring to, but Mithryn was something he was aware of. From the way she carried herself, spoke, and acted, Wynn had a hard time imagining her out in the fields tending to crops. It was much easier to picture her riding atop a horse, brandishing her sword whilst letting loose a terrible, bloodcurdling battle scream.

In fact, she fit the action so well, Wynn began to picture it in his own mind. A battlefield littered with bodies of the fallen. Syna's rays just barely peeking out over the distant copse of trees, illuminating the silhouette of a lone rider atop a battle scarred knoll. From below, the myriad of cries of countless barbarians, wrapped in furs and wielding crude stone weapons, their eyes burning with hatred. With a flourish of her blade, the rider charged, gathering speed with a direct trajectory into enemy territory. As steel met flesh, the rider released her battle cry, toppling her opponents with slash after bloody slash.

Between the imagined fantasy and the hypnotizing undulation of the portly merchant's extra flesh, Wynn almost didn't register Squire Linn's comment about eavesdropping was directed at him. Darting his head about for something else to look at, Wynn decided it was best to focus his gaze on the ground a few inches from the tip of his boots. He hadn't really realized there might be protocols for listening in on other people's conversations. In the tavern, he'd just stood and watched or listened to whoever he wanted. As long as he kept quiet and didn't make a fuss, they usually didn't notice him. As his companion continued on in a whisper, Wynn looked up to use the movement of her lips as an aid to hear her about the din of the stables. Nodding that he understood eavesdropped required a certain amount of subtlety, Wynn cautiously followed Squire Lin's gaze back to the merchant, who now seemed to be checking the position of the sun as if it would make Syna move across her domain any faster.

Grimacing at Squire Lin's pun of a joke, Wynn hurried after her. The stables were busy enough that if he let her get too far ahead, he'd be lost in moments. Of course, there was always the way out, but Ser Varner had instructed him to stay with Squire Lin for the remainder of the day. As he entered the structure, he was surprised when his senses were hit with a stifling wall of stench. It was a mix of manure, sweat, and the heady scent of dried and moldering grass. He felt his eyes well up as the onslaught of smells attacked his senses. Moving a hand to cover his nose, Wynn coughed a few times before forcing himself to inhale the air around him. It was like a liquid, flowing into his lungs and saturating his entire person with the smell it carried. Spluttering a few more times, Wynn wiped a few stray trickles of water from his eyes as he slowly began to get a bit more accustomed to the scent of the stables. He paused to let a stable hand pass, the heavy load of water upon his shoulders forcing his pace to slow shuffle. Welcoming the short moment of privacy from his escort, Wynn rubbed his eyes again, trying to blink out what he could of the oppressive stink of the air.

Thankfully, Squire Lin seemed preoccupied with the stables themselves to notice their effect on her companion. Wynn plodded behind her, catching up as she slowed near one of the stalls near the end of the building they'd entered. Her question caught him a bit off guard, as he had assumed if she'd been interested in his own story regarding his enrollment in the Order, she would have done so when they'd been discussing it. Muffling a cough, Wynn cleared his throat to respond. His voice came out a bit gritty as he did his best to speak and breath using the least amount of his air as possible. The more he needed to breath, the more the stink seemed to soak into his lungs. "Ser Varner isn't my patron, though..." Wynn gave her a dejected shrug, "He has been handling a lot of my training." Shaking his head, Wynn sucked in another breath of air as nonchalantly as he could. The result was somewhere between a fish gasping for water and an old man with only one lung sucking on a pipe. "I believe he and Ser Normit-" He paused, squinting his eyes in thought, almost forgetting the oppressive atmosphere of the barn for a moment. "He's my patron. Ser Normit, anyhow." Before he continued on. "I believe he - Ser Varner - and Ser Normit have an agreement?" He coughed at the end, having used a bit too much air to finish his last sentence. "Gods... Is it always like this?"

___

[Isana Lin]

"Always like what?" Isana frowned. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary in the stables – merchant excluded. Everything was running, more or less, as it ought to have been; stablehands darting among the horses, beasts braying and shuffling in their stalls, the steady beat of trotting hooves drifting through the open doors. The stables didn't change, not really. Horses changed hands and vanished from their stalls, only to be replaced by another – the same could be said of the odd stablehand – but the spirit of the place was reassuringly consistent.

Isana paused before a snorting Desertbred at the end of the row, custard coat light against the timber of the stable, as Wynn continued. Ser Normit was little more than a name to her, but arrangements... She knew arrangements. Tossed between patrons and knights like something's entrails, some particularly unpleasant strip of rotten meat that no-one wanted to handle, lest they contract the pox.

Cycled between knights so that no-one, lest of all your own patron, would have to put up with the curse of your presence for more than an afternoon. Yes, she knew that feeling. Knew it a sight better than she wanted to. Isana didn't resent them, not really. She'd grown past that years ago, but it was still a sore spot, left you feeling like you were somehow less than other squires. Some agreement it was. She'd never agreed to a damn thing. She'd agreed to sign-up though, and when it came right down to it that was the only piece of her consent that mattered a jot, as Vathan had been quick to remind her. Life was what life was and there was little point wallowing. Self-pity was for animals and infants. So she just smiled and nodded. "I don't think I've met Ser Normit. Ser Varner's not that bad, once you get used to him." She shrugged, felt a heavy head nuzzle her shoulder, and gently pushed the questing Desertbred's neck elsewhere in her tireless search for apples.

"Nothing for you today. Sorry. Except this one, if you're hungry." Isana jerked her head at Wynn, ponytail swinging. The horse gave a frustrated little snort in reply and returned to probing the corners of her stall for something edible. Isana grinned and let her attention drift back to Wynn, ignoring the odd glance from the darting stablehands – wondering why they weren't working, no doubt. Isana ran a hand over the satchel and the writ it contained. Maybe she'd get to wave it about after all. Unless they planned to just let her trot out with a horse, of course. She almost hoped they would. She nodded towards the horse with an apologetic shrug. "She's not the social sort, sorry." Isana gave a flourish, a courtier bringing a peasant before the Grandmaster. "Wynn, this is Brin, mount to knights, strider of the great deserts, and general bearer of bad news. Brin, this Wynn.

I wasn't planning for two riders today." Which did absolutely nothing to deter good Ser Varner. Isana decided against bristling, kept the frustration out of her voice. What was done was done, after all. Still... "So, we'll have to take turns with Brin. You can go first, if you like. Perhaps a trot around the yard?"

The gate to Brin's stall creaked as Isana tugged it open, one hand snaking around to clutch the desertbred's lead. For a moment the horse resisted, than finally emerged from the stall in a slow walk. No matter how many years she'd been riding, there was still something intimidating about being so close to a horse – a tremendous mass of muscle and bone, who was to say that Brin had any obligation beyond the desertbred's whim to do as Isana directed? It was always a mild surprise that the horse followed where she led. Whatever Windmount's other faults, they took careful care of the order's horses. Even going so far as to saddle and bridle Brin on her behalf, though Isana had long since figured out that particular trick. We wouldn't want us getting too much practice now, would we? Someone might run off with something. Ahead of her, the merchant was venting his frustration on an older-looking woman, both of the pair with arms folded neatly across their chests. She glanced back towards the stall door, suddenly eager to be out of the barn and away from the arguing stable-master. "Come on, Wynn. Can't keep the yard waiting."

Brin's ears swivelled back a fraction. The yard meant apples.

[Wynn Argall]

Isana seemed completely oblivious to the stench of the stables, giving Wynn the impression he was in the wrong, as several furtive glances about the area after Isana's questioning retort only served to further segregate Wynn's difficulty breathing from everyone else's easy inhale and exhale. With his newly gain epiphany, Wynn forced his lungs to open up to the heavy air. Though he could distinctly taste the sickly sweet flavor of dried grass mixed with horse sweat, the more air he forced into his lungs, the better he was able to cope with it. He felt a few tears escape the corner of his eyes but was quick to wipe them away before his companion noticed. If she had noticed, Wynn would have been surprised. It seemed his question about the stables had sent her into a perusal of the estate in search of anything out of the ordinary. The small bit of conversation they'd been having had come to an abrupt stop, picking up only after they'd arrived at one of the stalls nearer the end of the barn once Isana had determined Wynn had just been confused or something along those lines.

Her smile certainly caught Wynn off guard. The other squire had had a frown - or something close to that - for the majority of the time they'd been together. The smile seemed incredibly natural, and Wynn found the only response he could offer were was a shocked "o" of his lips before glancing down at the ground in retreat. His attention was drawn back to Isana at the sound of a snort from a large beast of a horse that had stuck its head over the sliding doors that led into the individual stalls. Wynn took a few tentative steps backward, doing his best to not appear as startled as he felt. Isana merely pushed the massive head away, speaking to it with a familiarity Wynn hadn't heard her voice carry until then. It was strange to see someone more friendly with an animal than her fellow race, but it wasn't beyond Wynn's comprehension. Abathur aside, he didn't have many people to share any sort of affection with. Animals, while wild and untamed despite whatever appearances they might hold, were often better outlets than the sharp tongues of other humanoids. He found himself grinning at Isana's joke, before frowning slightly at the possibility of it being not so jocular. Fortunately, the horse didn't seem to be all that keen on ingesting the offered squire, to which Wynn let loose a relieved sigh.

Isana seemed to think the horse was playing shy, though it seemed more like the beast was just hungry and knew neither of them had anything to feed it. At Isana's apology regarding the horse's temperament, Wynn just nodded. Whether the horse was shy or not, he didn't really see the need to apologize for it, as the horse probably didn't care one way or the other. Still, he didn't want to antagonize his supervisor for the day. As Isana introduced the horse with an air of grandeur and - though Wynn couldn't be sure - jest, he grinned, bowing back to the horse in kind. Usually not one for running jokes, Wynn found the idea of the horse being some form of animalistic royalty to be quite entertaining, even uttering an "An honor, my Lady." before grinning up at the large, dark eyes that set his grin into a cautious line. No matter how many times he saw them, the eyes of an animal were always something more than he expected. There was a life behind the swimming orbs, a soul perhaps, that peered through: silent but ever watchful.

Isana was quick to get down to business once introductions had been made. She offered the first ride to Wynn, who could only nod mutely, still unable to tell her he'd never ridden before. He knew he'd have to do it soon though, as he doubted she wanted a complete novice to jump astride what could only be defined as her friend and galavant off to who knew where due to his deficiency in the art of riding. He stumbled back a few more paces as the door slid open, and Isana reached inside to draw out Brin from within. For a moment, Wynn wasn't sure which would yield first: the stern squire or the stalwart steed. The horse seemed to decide that leaving the confines of the stall wasn't nearly as bad as it might have seemed at first. With heavy hooves stamping into the ground, Isana slowly led Brin out, keeping and eye on the horse while still paying attention to her trajectory.

The two walked on a bit ahead before Isana beckoned to him, a hint of impatience in her voice that seemed to be less directed towards Wynn and more so just to the soul of impatience itself. Tentatively, Wynn followed behind them, doing his best to give Brin a wide berth. He didn't want to take any chances, and mustering his strength, he approached the subject he'd been trying to avoid. "Ah..." Taking several strides to catch up to his companion, he continued with a hushed embarrassment as his cheeks turned a few shades darker. "I don't... Really..." The merchant's voice had begun to fill the stables. It seemed he was on the losing side of the argument, and he didn't want to throw in the towel quite yet. The increase of noise required Wynn to raise his own voice to impart the information he found was now necessary. "I've never ridden!" Immediately afterwards, he stared down at Isana's boots, waiting for her understandably agitated response.

___