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Old 06-05-2006, 12:02 AM   #34
Arry
Ghost Prince of Cardolan
 
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Join Date: Jan 2004
Posts: 704
Arry has just left Hobbiton.
It was a relief to Will as he crossed the yard to the stable to see a cart and horse pull up. A family . . . the Sandybanks, the husband told him. Will had assured him he’d take good care of Marigold, and find a place to pen in the goats.

‘Come on, girl!’ Will urged the pony forward, drawing the little cart beneath the eaves of the stable. ‘Now you wait here a bit, while I bring your friends into the barn. I’ll just get them put away safely, then come for you.’ The two nannies fit in one of the stalls, and were left quite contentedly munching on some fresh hay.

Marigold had waited patiently for him and stood quite still as he removed her harness and bridle. She nickered softly and nosed him in the shoulder as he led her into the stable. ‘How ‘bout a nice nosebag of oats for you? I’ll brush and comb you while you’re eating.’ Will ran his hand over the pony’s back. ‘Been on the road a while, eh?’

As the pony munched on her oats, Will began to brush her. He like to talk to the horses as he groomed them, and she was no exception.

‘Too bad girls can’t be more like ponies, Marigold,’ he began, moving his arm in long strokes with the brush. The pony twitched her ears back toward him as if she were listening closely. ‘You’re so much easier to talk to . . . and you don’t expect much. Or maybe it’s just that I know what you expect and what to do for you.’ She’d finished her oats and he’d removed the bag giving her some time to drink a little of the fresh water he’d brought in to her stall.

‘I’ve got six brothers. What do I know about the lasses?’ Marigold turned her head back and eyed him. She snorted as if urging him to go on. Will switched to the curry-comb and plunged ahead with his one-sided conversation.

‘You see . . . I’ve gotten myself into a little trouble . . .’ He unraveled the story of his letters home to Crickhollow and the impending visit of his mother and sisters-in-law . . . and the plan that Cook had come up with at breakfast.

‘Now how am I going to even look those two in the face?’ he asked in an exasperated voice. Marigold stamped her foot on the packed dirt floor of the stall, sending up hay dust from the layer strewn on ground. ‘Oh, sorry!’ he said, pulling the comb from a tangle he hadn’t noticed. He worked the tangle out with his fingers and went back to using the comb.

‘I mean, I have to work with them!’ He fell silent for a while, letting his hands move gently and efficiently over the pony’s coat. ‘We’re friends, you know. We talk and tease each other and such . . . I just have no idea what else I’m supposed to do . . .’
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