Difference between revisions of "4395/A Gift of Horses"

Latest revision as of 05:00, 7 August 2016

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Somewhere out towards the lake, away from the base of the village where the trees come together, there is a smaller grove of trees not far from the village outskirts. This is where the Wisewoman Inga has set up residence, having built a cabin (with help from Harry Dresden, that other wizard) out away from the people. The hill is too much an obstacle to her, and so she stays in the lowland, where the walking is easiest.

  There's one thing that might help her going up and down the steep hill... one thing that, coincidentally, Dun Realtai has just had an influx of. Horses! That's why, if Inga listens carefully, she might hear the steady clop of hooves, two horses, heading for her cottage.

  "Héa, Wisewoman!" And he'll hear the voice of Bedivere, too, pitched to carry over the distance from the track to her door. "Are you at home?"

Inga has posed:
The wisewoman is indeed at home, and has been for a couple of very slow days in which, miraculously, no one seems to have needed anything at all. And so Inga had puttered around the cottage, doing the things that needed doing then sitting down to her loom in order to work with the rather ridiculous amount of yarn she had spun over a three day marathon that went practically without stopping--or noticing, for that matter. She'd woke with an extremely full spindle, yarn trailing all over.

The click-clack of the loom disguises the sound of horses, but Bedivere's voice pulls her away from her meditative work and back into the present.

Blinkings, Inga reaches for her walking stick and heads over toward the door, opening it and peeking outside. "Sir Bedivere! Welcome. What can I do for you?" she asks, raising a pale brow.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Standing in the stirrups of the plain farm nag he's riding, the knight waves again. He's wearing the same armour that he had once worn in Camelot, the same full plate and white mantled cloak he has worn sooften around Dun Realtai. But it looks different, today. It's not only been repaired but given a new lease on life. Toph had used her unique art to restore it to its former glory, and it looks now as proud and bright as the first day he had worn it.

  It does make him cut a much more impressive figure; a knight in shining armour, indeed.

  He leads by a halter a much smaller horse than the one he's riding; a slender, lanky grey with a brush-stiff mane and darkening points, ash giving way to the colour of charcoal at its knees and hocks, and the points of its narrow, delicate face. The brightness in its eye and the arch of its tail suggests there are no stocky and shaggy ponies in its blood. it's a horse, albeit a small and fine-boned one; something suitable for the carrying of a short Wisewoman. Its ears are perked, head raised to sniff the air; Bedivere, meanwhile, raises his hand and waves again.

  "Come out, Wisewoman! I've a gift for you; one I think you would have much appreciation for!"

  His tone suggest he's smiling.

Inga has posed:
A gift? Well, Inga is intrigued. She closes the door behind her as she wanders out into the grove, spotting Bedivere upon his horse and leading a smaller, grey horse. A beautiful, delicate horse. Inga's eyes widen. She moves closer, approaching the creature slowly, letting it get used to the idea of her before she reaches out to touch.

Inga looks from the horse to Bedivere, back to the horse, then back to Bedivere. "Truly?" she asks, as if it is too good to be true. She has long needed a mount but has been very discouraged in the ability to find one. Many creatures have been suggested, but a horse is a creature she knows. A horse she knows the song to tame.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    If there's one particular gift that Eithne can be grateful for, it's her ridiculous resistance to tiring. Despite fighting a wicked garden yesterday, she woke up this morning feeling just fine. If the Union hadn't managed to defeat the Witch or save her very human victims, she might not feel so good.

    But they did, and she does, and Eithne has had a little extra spring in her step all day long as a result. A fact that didnt change just because there's a present waiting for Inga...!

    Of couse, she's not supposed to be part of the festivities today. She just saw Bedivere leading a horse to Inga's hut and decided she was going to follow along. She's lurking somewhere behind the line of horse and rider, possibly peeking her head out from behind a wall to observe.

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The horse is obviously of fine confirmation, more of a delicate and enduring saddle horse than a heavy courser. When Bedivere comes to a halt, the slender grey flicks its ears before raising its head at Inga, snorting delicately and taking a half-step closer to her, straining its lead.

  Bedivere grins as he offers up the lead rope to her. "Aye. Truly. She's too small for the breeding I'd had in mind, and too delicate for what we've a need for. War-horses, like that fine black beast in the corral by itself." He'd put out caution for people not to get too close to the Black One; the horse is dangerously aggressive, and strong. She may have passed by enough to see the beast from a distance, though. "Oh, aye, he'll make a fine foundation sire, if I can soothe the rage in his heart. But not like this filly, alas." He shakes his head. "She is too small."

  "I thought it might help you in getting to and from the village. To make you climb that hill is a cruelty, one that I had long meant to correct. Name her as you will." Bedivere smiles. "She is a spirited young thing, but she will be gentle with you, I think. Saddle-trained, and smart, as well."

  He looks up in time to see Eithne lurking somewhere behind a wall over there. "Héa, Miss O'Suilebhain!" A gauntleted hand is raised in a wave. "Come over here, instead of hiding!"

Inga has posed:
It is obviously love at first sight. Inga is enamored, which is clear by the dreamy expression on her face that only serves to remind how young Inga truly is. She is the wisewoman, a Seer, and the job lends itself to old souls or at the very least leads to them.

She reaches up to stroke her neck, leaning in to whisper a few words in the creature's ear. Just a small, gentle charm. A blessing perhaps. "She is beautiful Bedivere--now you must dismount because I do believe that I am going to hug you and it will be difficult from way up there," she informs him, smiling brightly.

"Saddle trained, but can she be trained to kneel? I must ask yet another favor in the help of training her...for I shall need help in the mounting, otherwise," she says.

Inga looks off toward Eithne as Bedi calls her out. Inga laughs. "I was going to wait a bit, perhaps say something juicy for her to overhead before calling her out...hello Eithne, you should really stop lurking--or at least let me teach you a spell so you can do it more effectively."

Inga leans her face close to the horse, letting her take in her smell, reaching into her pouch to pull out an apple to offer.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    "Erk!!" She's been spotted. Eithne pokes her head up from behind the wall, pink flushing brightly across her freckled face. So much for discretion and stealth...! "Sorry," she giggles, stepping out from behind the wall. "But I couldn't help but wonder what the fuss was about."

    To think, Inga has a new friend now!

    She shakes her head at the offer, still smiling. "I don't think I can even do magic like yeh do. But more importantly, what are yeh going to name it?" This is important!!!

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The knight obligingly nudges his horse further up toward the cabin, leaning well over the left side to slide over the horse's right side. He lands with a clatter of armour, thumping the dust from the waistcloth under his plate armour with a hearty thump. It rattles; there is chain beneath it. Just how many layers of armour did the silver-haired knight /wear/ in Camelot?

  Of course, if he's wearing all that, he probably had need of it. Bedivere is a practical man, and it's doubtful that he would have bothered if he had considered it something he could do without. He tilts his head slightly at her request, folding his arms and raising one to rub at his jaw thoughtfully. "A simple enough trick, if one not so common. Aye, I can do that, I think. She is intelligent, and I suspect she would take well to something new."

  Juicy? He arches a brow at Inga. Oh, not her, too. Merlin is bad enough.

  Besides, Bedivere may be unaware of it, but all the newest strangers to Dun Realtai need is to see Bedivere with his lady -- there's no hiding how close the two are; their understanding of one anohter borders on the unsettling, absently completing or even not needing sentences between one another.

  "Ah." Bedivere reaches up and rubs at the line of his cheekbone with a forefinger, absently. "I promised Wisewoman Inga a horse. It is difficult for her to travel to and from the village, or the castle. The hill is too steep for her, and so a horse would make the journey less strenuous. In truth, it is a fine horse, of fine blood; but it is not of a type that can be of use in the breeding lines I've intent to establish. The mare is too small, and blood of her blood will take after her size, I estimate. I have need of heavier stock, much heavier, and I can think of no finer, more practical gift for the Wisewoman."


  He gestures, with a half-smile. "Aye, what name will you have for her, Wisewoman?"

Inga has posed:
Inga smiles. "Well, perhaps not but I could work a charm for you at least," she says. She even winks. Inga is in an uncommonly good mood. That will happen when given a beautiful horse.

Apparently, you can surprise a Seer on occasion!

Inga treats Bedivere to another shining smile and an enthusiastic embrace. "Truly she is a magnificient gift. Thank you," she says, touched.

She breaks away from the hug and stands back, stroking the mare. "A name..." she muses. This is something she hasn't had the chance to think about. However, there is a time in which she has thought about it. Indeed, a time in which she has already decided. So she goes there.

Inga simply spaces out for a moment, eyes going blank as her hands keeps up the gentle stroking of the horse. "I shall call her Jordis," she informs them, smiling anew.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    Eithne's demeanor is even a bit looser and more relaxed than normal, despite her failed attempt to hide. It's fun to see Inga so happy, and to see Bedivere in what must be his prime.

    "Even so," she laughs, stopping mere feet from the knight and the village wisewoman, "It's nice to see the beginnin' of a relationship as such! She seems friendly." Eithne doesn't know /that/ much about horses, but Jordis isn't biting or kicking. That's a good sign, right?!

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Arms momentarily pinned to his side, Bedivere looks distraught for a moment when he's embraced, but to his credit he doesn't move. He can understand the need to show gratitude. He even manages not to try and struggle away, although the temptation is a strong one. He had long ago learned to shut out the world, and anyone who tried to get too physically close to him had suspicious motives or even malice.

  He'd learned to sleep with a knife in easy reach, in Camelot; something he had learned to do not long after Arturia had appointed him the realm's marshal. He tends to panic when people get close to or touch him. Not that he doesn't know what a simple hug is -- but his mind doesn't work that way, not any more. So he wills himself to smile, tense as it looks, and waits for her to let him go.

  "I am glad you approve. Jodis. A fine name, it is." If he understands the meaning behind the horse's name, he doesn't reveal it. It could be that his homeland was north enough to see the occasional sea-wolves intermarry, but not to learn the language. He himself, however, seems to have that touch of the north in his blood, with his pale complexion and that unbridled rage he falls into, in battle -- though rarely, and under specific circumstances, it isn't unlike the mead-induced fury of Camelot's Saxon raiders.

  He half-smiles, folding his arms. "Aye, Miss O'Suilebhain. If you've a wish for a horse of your own, I should be glad to give you one, to use while you are in Dun Realtai."

Inga has posed:
Well, Inga counts herself lucky that Bedivere doesn't stab her, despite the obvious tension when she hugs him. She /did/ warn him! She does release him, rather quickly seeing how uncomfortable he is with it. Gods, she hopes he doesn't act that way with Arturia! Poor Bedivere. She understands. Better than ever.

Inga turns and hugs Eithne instead. She's fulling huggy and Eithne looks huggable. "She does seem friendly doesn't she? Oh, I do so like her--oh gods I will need a place to keep her! I cannot keep such a fine creature in the goat shed!" she says.

The goats look at her accusingly for a moment, offended. Or just hungry. Hard to tell with goats.

"You should get a horse Eithne, then we can go riding together. That would be lovely," she says, going back to coo'ing over her horse. There will be so much brushing.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    She will not laugh at the moderately distraught look on Bedivere's face, she will /not/ laugh at it...

    Even if she doesn't mean any harm, Eithne has some idea of how much -- oof

    There is an Inga and she's hugging Eithne!!! It's such a good thing that she's got one response prepared for such an event: the Scion wraps her arms around Inga and hugs back, picking the slightly older woman up by the waist and rocking back and forth. It's a bit like a dance!

    "Ah- well, I don't really know how to ride," she tries to cheerfully demurr, and eventually sets Inga back down onto her feet. This is the girl that wants to tame a liver-eating water monster. Perhaps she believes in taking such things one step at a time.

    Eithne shoves her hands into her apron pockets. She's feeling good, even so~ "If yeh wouldn't mind loaning one to me so I can learn, I'd be real grateful!"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  The silver-haired knight casts a fleeting look to Inga, one both apologetic and haunted. It isn't his intention to be unsociable, but there are still scars that he has not yet healed from, from Camlann and from even earlier in his life. His left fist clenches and unclenches, almost unconsciously; the steel of his gauntlets clattering quietly.

  Visions or no visions, the Wisewoman seems the sort who would just ask him if he were so stilted around Arturia... she seems bold enough, given how she's teased him in the past. Maybe he /is/ a little uptight, but the hyper-competent Left Hand of the King was what he had to be. Circumstance bade him, at the time; he had not been able to afford showing the slightest bit of weakness. Old habits die hard, if at all.

  Bedivere inclines his head. "Aye, I would not mind. There are some horses in the string I acquired that would not suit the bloodlines I've a wish to keep. I would not mind presenting to you one of these," he adds, to Eithne... and then seems to think of something. "Do you know how to ride?"

Inga has posed:
Inga is treated to being held off her feet and swung about like a rag doll, which she finds rather surprising. "Odin's bones! You are strong Eithne!" she exclaims, laughing when she's put back on her feet. "I suppose that is the result of your heritage hmm?" she responds knowingly.

"I am quite sure that Sir Bedivere could teach you to ride, he is a fine horeseman. I am...well, I have different ways than the traditional ones," so, magic. "I could teach you a few things, but Bedivere would be a much better teacher." Inga then finds another apple to feed to Jodis. "Now...who can I get to build me a place for her..." she muses, running various strong men through her mind who might be up to the task/guilted into/lured with pie.

Inga gives Bedivere an almost imperceptable nod, her gaze an apology. She didn't know it would be so unpleasant for him, and she knew it wasn't personal. Like Bedivere, she can communicate a great deal with a look. Perhaps she is a bit slow to tease him just yet, after the vision. She can tease, and she is bold, but she is certainly not insensitive.

"Well, I am being lax as a hostess. Would you both like to come in for tea?" she offers, vaguely wondering if the horse will fit through the front door...but then she thinks of her lovely clean floors and throws that idea out.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    "Not as such!" Eithne repeats cheerfully to the question of her ability to ride. "Though I know about the very basics. But if I'm to learn, now is the best time to start, don't yeh agree?"

    Enthusiasm might be the best she has to offer; it'd better count for something!

    Picking up Inga is a /lot/ like picking up a rag doll. Picking up /Bedivere/ would be a lot like picking up a rag doll. Picking up the horse-- picking up the horses would not be like picking up a doll. Picking up the horses would require actual attention. "It is," Eithne nods, agreeing easily. "I don't have any experience building barns but I can at least carry wood!" she offers. But first... "I'd love some tea!"

Sir Bedivere (482) has posed:
  Bedivere manages a half-smile as Inga is swung about and greeted with enthusiasm, taking half a step aside and out of the way of the Chosen of the Morrigú. It wouldn't do to be struck by the Wisewoman in passing. He merely tilts his chin to one side in that way he has of doing; the same gesture Arturia makes in place of a shrug. "So it would seem. She lifted me, as well. Her physical strength is unrivaled, save perhaps among the Ever-Living Ones... or a Servant."

  "A place?" The knight raises a brow. "I should be happy to help you with that, Wisewoman. There are workmen throughout the village. You need only ask them, and tell them that I bade them do the work for you. They shall be happy to, and I shall be happy to help, as well; nor do I think they would mind your help, either, Miss O'Suilebhain."

  Tea? He shakes his head. "No, thank you, Wisewoman, but I thank you for the offer. I wished only to deliver this filly to you, while I had the opportunity. I intend to return to my lady for dinner." The knight manages a smile that seems surprisingly... shy. "She is expecting me, or I would stay. Worry not. We will both visit your cabin, some time. I will bring you tea, mayhap, or spices." Something rich and worthy of a seer who's done a great deal of service for the village, certainly.

  He moves back to his horse, climbing into the saddle and hauling himself up with a grunt of muted pain. After being thrown from the Black One, there are certain hurts he hadn't realised he'd had complaining at him; stiffness that hasn't yet left his tired limbs. With a weary half-smile, he lifts an open palm to Eithne and Inga. "I will see you later, then. God keep you both." Turning his horse, he gives a tap to the horse's ribs, and the plough horse is off, lumbering back up the path towards the village.

  They might see, if they squint through the trees, Bedivere lift his hand in a final gesture of farewell without turning to look back.

Inga has posed:
Inga laughs uproarishly. "You picked up Bedivere? I should like to see that!" she says. Maybe she shouldn't have. She might do it again. Really though, she'd like to see it.

Inga smiles to Bedivere, nodding. "Mmm, there are a few people who will be obliged I am sure. I will expect you and Lady Arturia to visit soon for tea and see how Jodis is settling in," she says in response to him decline the offer of tea. "Farewell--and thank you again," she adds, grinning. HORSEY!

"Well come along Eithne, lets have tea," she says, linking arms with her to lead her inside.