[Wild Roses] somewhere in the Trickwood . . .
Title: a word of warning
'Verse/characters: Trickwood Unification; Donel, Arianhrod
Prompt: 26B "humor"
Word Count: 655
Notes: No matter what Fintain claims, she does have a sense of humour.
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"Keep that up and it's you who'll be getting an armoured coat," remarked a familiar voice in a familiar tone and his horse bucked twice before he relaxed enough for the horse to be reassured. The wood made him paranoid enough without adding his Winter-kissed siblings to the current.
"Hi, Arianhrod," he replied, and heard her laugh, a bubble of light girlish giggle that always made him wonder about the girl she'd been, long before he was born.
It was a bad habit, and he knew it, but he looked around before he looked up, and heard her laughing harder as he did.
Perched halfway up one of the few truly innocuous trees in the area, her legs crossed at the ankle, Arianhod looked as perfectly at ease as she would have done if he'd run across her curled into an armed chair in the Keep's main library.
He reined the horse to a stop--the gelding immediately shifted weight to rest a hind leg and he automatically shifted his weight in response--at a good sight line with her, touched his fingers to his chest in an abbreviation of the greeting he usually gave her. "Am I riding into a crocodile's ford, then?"
She pursed her lips, pretending to consider. "I'm not sure 'crocodile' is the correct word for what I saw."
"Big, armoured, toothy and inclined to think of man and horse as a delicacy?" he amended, resisting the urge to roll his eyes because her in a good mood, no matter the annoyance, was far preferable to her in a snit.
She grinned down at him, hands propped on either side of her hips on the smooth bark of the branch she was sitting on. "I think if it opened its mouth all the way I could stand on its tongue and not bang my head on its fangs."
"That's not actually saying much, sister mine," he replied, half-smiling himself and made a show of ducking the small gust of wind she sent his way. "Now, if Geoffrey could do that--"
She snorted, dropped through the branch and reappeared at the base of the trunk, her hair only half-visible through the brush, began moving towards him, branches and weeds whipping out of her path. "We could build a tent from something that size, not just a coat. How armed are you?"
He leaned down as she emerged from the thicket, offered her an arm if she wanted to perch behind him on his rolled saddle-blanket, but she shook her head, flicked a hand towards the path he'd come down. He nodded, withdrew the arm, considered. "Insufficiently for things you can stand in that're armoured as well. Soft-bodied I'd probably be fine."
"Can you take another route? Killing that thing is going to bring scavengers--"
He frowned, thinking, automatically shifting as the gelding tried to sidle away from her. "I can take another route, but it's going to add days. Any chance of--"
"Ask Ulysse yourself," she replied tartly, and he wondered what Ulysse'd done lately. Beyond simply being Ulysse, of course, because she was long since used to that.
"I was going to suggest dropping it on a mountaintop as dragon bait," he corrected her gently, and watched her expression go thoughtful with a twinge of pride.
"You'll owe me a meal in a harbour kitchen," she told him as her eyes refocused. "The nearest mountain with a proper snow line's a long ways away."
"Done," he said, then leaned down--trusting the belly band not to slip--and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you."
"I'd never live it down if I let you get eaten," she demurred, but she was smiling as she faded out and a cut-off roar echoed from the next valley. The gelding shivered under him, and he reached forward, scratched at the base of the horse's mane with mage-strong fingers, wishing he was as blase as he was projecting.
'Verse/characters: Trickwood Unification; Donel, Arianhrod
Prompt: 26B "humor"
Word Count: 655
Notes: No matter what Fintain claims, she does have a sense of humour.
---------
"Keep that up and it's you who'll be getting an armoured coat," remarked a familiar voice in a familiar tone and his horse bucked twice before he relaxed enough for the horse to be reassured. The wood made him paranoid enough without adding his Winter-kissed siblings to the current.
"Hi, Arianhrod," he replied, and heard her laugh, a bubble of light girlish giggle that always made him wonder about the girl she'd been, long before he was born.
It was a bad habit, and he knew it, but he looked around before he looked up, and heard her laughing harder as he did.
Perched halfway up one of the few truly innocuous trees in the area, her legs crossed at the ankle, Arianhod looked as perfectly at ease as she would have done if he'd run across her curled into an armed chair in the Keep's main library.
He reined the horse to a stop--the gelding immediately shifted weight to rest a hind leg and he automatically shifted his weight in response--at a good sight line with her, touched his fingers to his chest in an abbreviation of the greeting he usually gave her. "Am I riding into a crocodile's ford, then?"
She pursed her lips, pretending to consider. "I'm not sure 'crocodile' is the correct word for what I saw."
"Big, armoured, toothy and inclined to think of man and horse as a delicacy?" he amended, resisting the urge to roll his eyes because her in a good mood, no matter the annoyance, was far preferable to her in a snit.
She grinned down at him, hands propped on either side of her hips on the smooth bark of the branch she was sitting on. "I think if it opened its mouth all the way I could stand on its tongue and not bang my head on its fangs."
"That's not actually saying much, sister mine," he replied, half-smiling himself and made a show of ducking the small gust of wind she sent his way. "Now, if Geoffrey could do that--"
She snorted, dropped through the branch and reappeared at the base of the trunk, her hair only half-visible through the brush, began moving towards him, branches and weeds whipping out of her path. "We could build a tent from something that size, not just a coat. How armed are you?"
He leaned down as she emerged from the thicket, offered her an arm if she wanted to perch behind him on his rolled saddle-blanket, but she shook her head, flicked a hand towards the path he'd come down. He nodded, withdrew the arm, considered. "Insufficiently for things you can stand in that're armoured as well. Soft-bodied I'd probably be fine."
"Can you take another route? Killing that thing is going to bring scavengers--"
He frowned, thinking, automatically shifting as the gelding tried to sidle away from her. "I can take another route, but it's going to add days. Any chance of--"
"Ask Ulysse yourself," she replied tartly, and he wondered what Ulysse'd done lately. Beyond simply being Ulysse, of course, because she was long since used to that.
"I was going to suggest dropping it on a mountaintop as dragon bait," he corrected her gently, and watched her expression go thoughtful with a twinge of pride.
"You'll owe me a meal in a harbour kitchen," she told him as her eyes refocused. "The nearest mountain with a proper snow line's a long ways away."
"Done," he said, then leaned down--trusting the belly band not to slip--and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you."
"I'd never live it down if I let you get eaten," she demurred, but she was smiling as she faded out and a cut-off roar echoed from the next valley. The gelding shivered under him, and he reached forward, scratched at the base of the horse's mane with mage-strong fingers, wishing he was as blase as he was projecting.