The Stables: Early Friday morning

[vkandis-son.livejournal.com]

Karal was having a good morning. He'd slept well, he'd said the morning prayers, he'd gone down to feed Trenor...

...who bolted across the the stable yard, dragging the lead through Karal's hand and knocking him on his rump.

As he picked himself up, he stared -- he'd never seen his horse rear before, not to his full height. "Trenor, Trenor, it's all right," he said soothingly, very cautiously approaching him.

When he caught the trailing end of the lead, Trenor lunged backwards, shaking his head, ears flat back against his neck. For one second, Karal thought he was going to strike out, but he kept hold of the lead, ready to dodge, and kept talking.

Finally, trembling, the horse dropped his head and walked forward to shove his nose against Karal's chest, just about knocking him over again.

"Glory, what's wrong with you?" He kept his voice low and reassuring. "Silly horse, there's nothing to hurt you here."

Trenor snorted and curved one ear forward, but didn't look at all convinced.

Second Floor Common Room; Friday Evening.

[ecirpnellehada.livejournal.com]

In a strange and startling turn of events, it would seem that Adah Price crawled from primordial depths (well, her bedroom, anyway, which, while quite dry and warm and nice, seemed to be taking on a murky, swamplike visage in her head today) to emerge herself once again on the front of possible socialization. She wondered if she should be concerned, and then reasoned with herself, as she shifted through a drawer for a can opener that she could manage with one hand, that there were reasons. Today, the reason was simply that of the fact that a girl had to eat. She was driven from the confines of as close to a hermitage as she could get for a simple, primal need. Yesterday also had its reasons, as she had come across the fairly busy pool entirely by accident out of not wanting to deal with the trouble of bundling up a little to go outside. Warmer weather aside, it had nothing on the sweltering Congo nights. They had their reasons and she was restless, anyway, wrestling a little finally with a simpler can opener that made quite a chore out of getting into the can of fruit swimming in sickly sweet syrup that would probably make her stomach rebel later, but it was food, it was (relatively) simple, and eating it directly out of the can as she curled up a little on the couch had become more familiar to her than other, conventional, American ways of preparing full, three-course meals.

She considered the TV, but then banished the thought once the thought of managing a remote control and a can of peaches would be more difficult than Adah wanted to bother with right now.


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