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“A fine horse, isn’t he?” responded Léof. “This is Flithaf, Eodwine’s horse – his old charger.” Léof laughed. “Don’t tell him that he’s getting older, though. He still has enough spirit for a horse half his age.” Thornden chuckled along with him, although the horse seemed to hold himself above such jokes. Léof gave him a final pat on the withers before letting himself out of the stall. He had been about finished, and would leave Flithaf to finish his breakfast in peace.
The past week had been good to Léof. Though his contact with many of the people around the hall had been fairly minimal, he had quickly developed an easy confidence around the stable and its horses. He knew from painful experience which one bit and which one was a picky eater, and which ones he could be comfortable with inside their stalls. His old comfort with horses had been coupled with a new level of security, and while he had not lost sight of his determination and past experiences, he felt that he had found a freedom that he had never quite known before. Sure, he had three weeks yet to prove himself, but he saw no reason why this should be a problem and, wisely or not, some corner of his mind had already asserted itself as master of the stables. Safety was here; he need not fear as at home that his father might come thundering in after him.
He looked to Thornden, curious now as to what had brought him out here. Léof did not particularly recall seeing him around the stables at any point during the week. He supposed that if Thornden were to be Eodwine’s steward, as he had heard, then he would need to be familiar with all parts of the Mead Hall. “There isn’t anything I particularly need to be doing right now – would you like me to show you around the stable?” Léof offered. Thornden agreed, and the pair moved down the aisle with Léof comfortably but respectfully answering any of Thornden’s questions.
They were interrupted after a bit by the arrival of Linduial in out of the rain. In the dry warmth of the stables, Léof had all but forgotten about the damp outside and was now all the more grateful for its snugness. After all, a stable had to be kept dry because if the hay became wet it would rot, which could cause all kinds of problems.
His focus drifted back to Linduial; he had little idea as to why she might have come out here. She may have just come out to see her horse, as the apple in her hand might suggest, and take advantage of the dry stable, opposing the construction going on with the roof in other parts of the hall. And the weather was certainly unpleasant for a ride – unpleasant for going anywhere. But obviously she had some business out here.
“Good morning, Linduial,” he greeted. “Can I help you with anything?”
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