[Folwren]

Javan could have laughed out loud for joy. He nearly did. He also nearly clapped his hands and jumped, but he didn’t do that, either. Instead he smiled broadly and skipped backwards towards the tack room, knowing they would need to go there first to gather tack and other things for the ride.

“Really?” he cried, leading the way. “What horses are we riding? Can I ride a different horse than my own? He’s not very tall and can’t go fast. And we already let him out to the paddock, anyway. Can I ride that great bay one at the end there?” He bounced and skittered as his hand waved towards the stall. Though he did not know it, it was Eodwine’s horse that he indicated, and Léof immediately shook his head.

“No. That is entirely out of the question. If your horse is already out in the paddock, you can ride Garwine’s. She is gentle enough, and will keep pace well with my horse.”

“Which one is she?” Javan asked with a deal of disappointment in both his voice and expression.

“She’s the dark chestnut without the star on her forehead. Herefola. She is the one like my horse, Æthel.”

“Oh, please let me ride the other!” Javan begged.

“That’s lord Eodwine’s horse, Javan, I can’t let you ride him! Get the saddle for Herefola and let’s have no more arguing.” Léof picked up his own saddle and Javan turned with a bitter shrug to obey him. The sour look had entirely left his face, though, by the time they were drawing the horses out of their stalls and tying them to the rings in the aisle.

In five minutes, the two mares were saddled. They stood side by side, their heads up and their ears moving about with excitement. Very handsome they looked, their deep, coppery chestnut coats glistening. They were remarkably alike, and Javan was so pleased with their appearance he nearly forgot his disappointment about not being able to ride the retired war horse.

“Alright,” Léof said, “let’s take them out. We can get on them in the courtyard.”