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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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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