(no subject)
It's early yet, but Caspian had woken up and found the usual morning drowsiness absent, so he had dressed and come out to the stable for chores, exchanging nods with the few others up and about. The mares and geldings are taken out to pasture; the stallions split between the few sectioned paddocks, and they're grazing placidly while the grain is filled, the stalls cleaned, the floors swept.
Eager enough hands help, and soon the morning chores are done, but it is such a fine morning--bright and clear--that the temptation is to stay outside, to sit against a tree with hands loose between his knees and watch the sun on the lake--the bay, rather.
(It's hard to look at the bay and not see white lilies or the spiraling towers of Cair Paravel.)
So that is what Caspian does. He's been doing rather a lot of it, lately.
Eager enough hands help, and soon the morning chores are done, but it is such a fine morning--bright and clear--that the temptation is to stay outside, to sit against a tree with hands loose between his knees and watch the sun on the lake--the bay, rather.
(It's hard to look at the bay and not see white lilies or the spiraling towers of Cair Paravel.)
So that is what Caspian does. He's been doing rather a lot of it, lately.