The Hunt

[Celia]

((*laughs* I hadn't meant that she'd actually stood, merely sat up by his side, verrrrry close *winks* but let’s go on as is!))

Her shoulders were bunched tightly in an odd mix of eager anticipation and sheer terror! Her mother had effectively drilled a rather unreasonable fear of the creatures into Celia’s young head, having had some superstitious premonition that she’d be trampled by one before she reached an age of accountability . . and even though she’d lived long past the time, the lingering fear was branded into Celia’s nature. Still, she had always admired them from a safe distance . . and this particular beast seemed so magnificently wonderous. Mostly, if she’d admit it, since it now seemed to be hers! She had a devil of a time tearing her eyes off the slender face.

As her hand wrapped around the carrot laying across his large, calloused hand, the warmth of his flesh, flushed more so by his nervousness, brought her attentions back to him. Her face fell in dismay as she quickly surveyed his state of disarray. Her fault entirely. His gentle admonition to keep her movements less dramatic ringing in her ears, she quietly chirruped while using the cleanest corner of her apron to dab at the missed spots on his kindly face, “Oh Perran . . I be e’er so sorry! Here here here . . . Le’me help get your hair back t’order . . . “ and not waiting for him to lean down to allow her access, she reached up to pluck at what she could, the carrot still tucked in her hand.

The scent of the delayed treat proved too much for the horse, and he stretched his head further to nudge at her again. A tiny flood of affection colored her soft laughter, her eyes sparkled as she glanced between Perran and his gift. “I thin . . think she . . she likes me?

I does so hope . . “ Tenatively, she held out her hand, fingers stiff and straight, holding her breath as the soft lips nibbled the treat up and away, and not releasing it again until she was sure her fingers hadn’t gone with it!

“Oh but a name, Perran? Can ye name something right off, without knowin’ it a’tall? It be a special thing, a name . . “ She looked back to search his eyes, a host of her favoritest of names dancing through her thoughts. “Ye knows her well . . what d’ye think she should be called?!”

[Perran]

As she fussed and fretted with his hair and dabbed at his face he could almost feel the rush of blood to his cheeks........only hoping that dipping his head would hide it from her. She could be quite a force to be reckoned with he mused to himself as he finished plucking stray remnants of straw from his already abandoned curls. He also made a mental note to ask cook sooner than later to cut some of them lest he would begin to look like a horses mane himself.

The look taking over her own features told a thousand stories and he was mesmerised once again by her simple innocence. Obviously she was worried, no...more than worried for her fingers as she fed the carrot to a very confused horse, the poor creature would always be rather bemused by its new owner Perran was sure of that, as he would probably take a lifetime to understand her. He thought of a lifetime, just for a moment.....with her.....perhaps....could it ever be. A warm smile graced his weathered face then, nodding towards her as if to let her know she was doing well and the horse did indeed like her, how could she not, there was nothing about Celia to not like......well....perhaps.....just sometimes.......when she was flustered, but even then, she always meant well even if she did quite often embarress him without knowing.

A name.....well......he pondered this as he dug deeper into his pocket for another carrot, offering it towards Celia as he spoke.

"Hmmmm.....it nae be me place really......ta name 'er like......but she nae ever gave up afore ah found 'er......afore ah did give 'er more......praps 'ope be a good name.....but ah be sure yer shell 'ave another in mind, 'an yers shell get ta know 'er soon enough, see........she likes yer already."

He smiled again, flicking a stray curl that seemed to always wish to cover his left eye, he really must speak with cook soon.

[Celia]

"Hope" The simple word had ridden out on her exhaled breath, and the object of the name paused in her munching. Most possibly because of the change in Celia's pitch, or the scent of her breath so close against the velvety nostrils . . but she took it as a sign of approval, a benediction, and beamed up at her companion before returning her full attention to stroke at the longer hairs beneath the long muzzle with exaggerated gentleness.

"Wēn, in the old tongue. Aye. Poor lil' thing." Celia was not entirely a stranger to witnessing small abuses to man nor beast, yet she could not quite imagine the gleaming coat less than what the young man had nurtured to it's present condition. " Ye be right, Perran. I think the name does suits her. She nae seems the worse for whate'r she's had to endure before ye found her. "

Her courage grew as her stroking probed further along the sinewed neck without injury to herself, stealing questioning glances for approval from Perran. "Can we . . does ye think she will bear me yet atop her? Or . . be it best to give her a few days to get ta trustin' me about?"

[Perran]

"Aye....Wen be just as goodly" Perran chuckled as he brushed his tunic down from the clinging straw and hay. He glanced around the Stables then , knowing he still had much to do and the horses, no matter how clever would not groom themselves.

"Ya knows, what 'ere ya calls her....as long as it be in a soft tongue she will know ya, and it looks like yas already got 'er as a new friend. Mayhaps ya brush her and then get 'er used ta a blanket fer a while an' then we can try 'er with a saddle. Ah gots one ready, 'tis still in need of a waxin' and ah can show ya how ta do that."

Perran offered Celia the brush he had been using and moved past her to where a blanket was laid over the stall. Next he lifted the saddle from where it sat beside a small three legged stool, nodding towards her with a grin. There was some muslin cloths and a small jar of some strange smelling substance. Perran placed them all near the stool and watched her. He knew the horse had been used to a rider but that man had treated her badly and the memory may linger. With a little time and care, Hope would be fine, he was sure.

"Brush 'er a while......ah gots some chores ta finish. Ah will nae be far."

With that, he grinned again and took a leap over the stall into the next, gathering up a broom to begin sweeping. The grin stayed, and he wondered if it would become a permanent fixture......try and he may it just would not go away!