river_meimei | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's full spring, even in Scotland. Or pseudo-Scotland, as the case may be. The grass is a thick green mat, and the last of the chilly mud has faded into good loam. The trees are in bud and in flower, and everywhere the air smells of growth.

River is curled beside a fencepost of the farthest paddock, watching Boukephalos strut with high flagged tail around a disinterested Corella. Her fingers shift lightly against grass and her skirt, and her face is abstracted in thought.

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Spring.

Galadan remembers spring, remembers what it brings to the forest, what it has not brought to him in years uncounted.

This spring is different.

And so it is that he approaches River, winter-grey eyes a little distant as he leans against the fence.

"Hello, River."

River glances up at him, without urgency.

The corner of Galadan's mouth quirks upward.

The corners of his eyes crinkle faintly, belying the dark smudges beneath them.

It has been a long few . . . weeks?

Cernan is a harsh taskmaster, even when he is being kind.

"Are you enjoying the day, then?"

"You are."

It's soft.

Maybe it's a question, or maybe it's not.

He nods, smile spreading slowly across his face as he looks up, looks around.

"So I am."

There may be a hint of wonder, there, too, hidden behind the sharp grey of his eyes.

River studies him.

And says nothing; but maybe -- just maybe -- her face relaxes slightly into the very faintest of smiles.

Galadan looks back down at the girl, after a time.

"Do you ride?"

"It's a plural," River says to the grass.

There's a long pause, while her gaze flickers over fence and sky before settling on the middle distance, and the horses beyond.

Softer, "Sometimes."

"Sometimes."

He huffs out a soft breath. It might be a half-swallowed laugh.

"I'm more used to running."

"Everybody does."

He looks down, attention snared by River's words.

And her tone.

"Do you?"

River doesn't answer.

But her face is tight and her shoulders set beneath her long duster, and perhaps that's its own answer.

"Ah."

He's quiet for a few moments, watching River.

Though it seems as if he's more looking beyond her.

"Perhaps it is different when one is running toward, instead of away."

He laughs, a short bark of sound.

"I confess I wouldn't know."

"I'm not," River whispers, after too long a pause.

What exactly she's not isn't clear. Perhaps intentionally so, or perhaps not.

Galadan pauses, studying her again for a moment. Then he looks at his own hand, considering. Aside from that he doesn't move.

"Then it cannot be 'everybody', can it? Not all at once, at the least."

"Temporality."

River breathes out in a deep sigh, and watches in silence as the tall black stallion gives up on Corella and begins to pick his way across the pasture towards them.

Galadan shifts his weight, dropping gracefully to sit next to the girl. Not, of course, close enough to touch, at least not easily.

"Sometimes it's less rigid than one might believe."

His attention appears to shift from the girl to the horses.

Only Galadan knows how accurate that appearance is.

Boukephalos rolls an eye towards Galadan in deep distrust, and sidles slightly towards him in wariness or warning. It's probably nothing personal; Boukephalos mistrusts nearly everyone.

River says nothing for a few breaths.

"Manipulate the strata," she says softly, and lifts one shoulder in an awkward half-shrug.

"There is also the option of choosing your own ground."

Galadan's attention flickers toward Boukephalos, then away again.

There are, for the moment, no predators here.

Or no active ones, at any rate.

River's lips twitch reluctantly.

The set of Boukephalos' ears and his sideways arched-neck sidle say very clearly that he considers attack an option at any point, just so everyone knows. River holds out a hand, palm up, without seeming to notice, or perhaps care.

Galadan, too, appears uncaring of the threat the horse may or may not represent.

Instead he sits in silence, one corner of his own mouth turning up as he watches the two of them.

It's not like a dance at all, not really, and yet--

What, in the end, isn't a kind of dance? Or so some would say; it's only the steps that change.

"Cranky," River says softly to her outstretched hand or the grass and hooves beyond, and Boukephalos snorts and tosses his head. But, with a wary and forbidding eye for Galadan, he does finally lower his great head to lip at River's fingers.

He's still shedding the last of his winter coat, and his black hair isn't as sleek as it will be later. It's still shaggy at chin and belly with the last remnants of winter. Even so, the war-stallion's muscles show clearly. But he snorts against River's palm, and investigates each finger to make sure she's not hiding any treats.

"Understandably so."

Galadan's voice is quiet, almost reflective.

It wouldn't do to startle the creature now.

River makes a slight face.

"Encouraging," she warns amiably, "is counter-productive." Boukephalos just casts one final glower at Galadan, and then eases his ears slightly forward in a visible concession to tolerate him for the moment.

"Run and eat," River whispers to the stallion. "Mares. Knows the worlds."

The other corner of Galadan's mouth curves upward.

"I'd hate to do that."

Consider him chastened.

River glances up at Galadan.

She can't read his mind; she never has been able to. But certain tones are clear to anyone who grew up in the Tam household, and inherited the family sense of deadpan.

Uh huh, her expression says.

He turns his head, winter-grey eyes brightening with amusement.

"Today, at least. I make no promises about a week from now."

His attention shifts back to the horse.

"Not, I suspect, that he needs a great deal of encouragement."

And while Galadan says 'he', the Wolflord is not speaking solely of Boukephalos.

"Natural talent."

River may or may not hear the extra layers of meaning, but her face has relaxed a little more anyway.

Boukephalos lifts his head enough to scent the wind and stamp once. Corella shakes herself, and Boukephalos turns an interested eye back on her.

"Natural talent tempered by an appealing distraction, it would seem."

It's the season for it, quite honestly.

"He remembers," River says softly. "What hasn't happened yet. When it's relevant, the wind will change."

She tips her face to the sky, eyes closing.

"I smell rain."

The clouds are gathering, scudding across the sun; no thunderstorm, but perhaps a spring shower. Or perhaps not yet.

Galadan, too, tilts his face up, scenting the air.

"Soon enough, yes. The forest will appreciate it."

One hand brushes lightly over the grass as the Wolflord remembers another forest far from here.

"Is he the only one that remembers?"

River gives Galadan a look that says listen to yourself, and do not be a moron.

In a friendly manner.

"Catch and chase," she murmurs to the field at large. "Old soul. Remembers the pattern of the steps."

Galadan returns her look, though his is accompanied by a very faint smile.

"I never was very good at working within boundaries."

"Cheater," River translates.

Cheerfully.

She just might approve.

Galadan almost laughs.

"Must we apply the label before being caught?"

"We'll use steam," River assures him sagely.

This time he does laugh.

"And should they switch to something not so easily foiled?"

"It's a quandary."

"Doubtless we could figure something out, were we persistent enough."

They are both of them very clever, after all.

Even if one of them is mad.

River directs a smug smile at Corella's forelegs.

"That," he says, mouth quirking in a genuine smile, "is neither yes or no."

"You're very clever," River says cheerfully.

Which may mean nope, it's not.

Or may mean, I'm sure you can figure out which I mean.

"So I've been told."

This is very true.

He's still smiling even as he subsides into silence.

This is--more comfortable than he expected.

Odd.

Odd but enjoyable.

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