The sunlight was blinding. She threw her arm up to shield her eyes as she trotted down the few steps to the packed dirt of the yard, while the door to the manor thudded closed behind her. The autumn morning was perfect, the air crisp and faintly scented with the hazy smoke of leaves being burned at the various farmsteads and cottages that dotted the idyllic, verdant countryside.
The young woman jogged hurriedly across the wide space between the house and the enormous, well-built stable, her shoes crunching softly against the gravelly soil while her hands swept her waist-long hair up into a hasty ponytail.
Just before reaching the sliding-door, which stood open, a hulking figure stepped out into the sunlight. With brown hair peppered grey, and a weather-beaten face, the man was not a particularly pleasant sight, and he was made even less so by the glowering scowl twisting his features. "Yer late," he snarled, bracing his hands against the door to slide it open completely with a rumbling sound.
"I'm sorry," she replied in a muffled voice, as a bit of ribbon was held between her lips while her hands finished harnessing her hair. She tied it quickly, panting a little from her run. "Now, I think we should start with the - "
"Go fetch the sorrel mare!" he barked, cutting her off while turning away and reaching for a pail hanging from a nail by its curved handle.
The girl stared at the back of his head, startled. "But, I...I thought..."
The man whirled on her, pinning her with his mud-brown eyes that glared beneath bushy brows. She felt the color drain from her cheeks, and could see the smug satisfaction that filled his expression, believing her to have been silenced under his wrath.
"Go on," he grumbled, more quietly now, with a dismissive wave of his hand towards the long line of stalls. "Fetch her."
She did not turn away, but continued to regard him quietly for a moment. Her countenance tightened, her lips pinching slightly. "Lord Merton instructed me to begin training the bay gelding today, and - "
He spun around again, this time taking a step towards her. A faint gasp choked off her words, and she blinked in alarm, flinching slightly.
The man pointed a finger at her chest, going so far as to let it drop slowly, until it touched the neck of her tunic. "I'm the one what runs this stable, girl. I dun care who y'are, or where yer from," he rattled in a low, hoarse voice. "I dun care how pretty yer southern, yellow hair is." He reached back and flicked her ponytail mockingly, causing her to shy away from his touch. "Or if yer pa was born and raised in a stall. Ye do what I tell ya."
As he backed away slowly, she remained stiff, her arms clenched tightly to her sides, panting against the heart that pounded in her chest. She avoided his eyes until he had turned away again and resumed reaching for the bucket.
She felt her chin quivering with a sudden, terrible indignation. To be untold leagues away from home, striving to honor the painful decision of her father that was already like a dagger in her heart, with no friends or connections aside from this bewildering, new employer, and now, to stand and be insulted by this dirt-smudged boor of a man. It was too much.
"I work for Lord Merton, not for you," she said quietly, her tone cold and steely. "And he wants - "
She was cut off for the third and last time, as the man turned on her like a whirlwind, this time with his fingers curled into a balled-up fist. She did not see his hand. She barely registered the ugly fury on his face, before everything turned to black and white streaks and she felt herself hitting the straw-covered floor.
