The morning was bitter at this time of year, even in the stronghold that was the White City. Stepping out of what had become his temporary home over the past few months, the riled ex-captain was met with a face full of cold bitter air that sent his hair into his face. Such a minor inconvenience was still enough to make his fist clench tightly in its leather gauntlet as he pushed it aside.
Over the past few days his patience, already thin, had finally disappeared and the fire that once burned in his heart had now been replaced with a feeling of annoyance. At everything. His boots clacked across the stone pathways as he made his down towards the main stables, carrying his large pack upon his back. Every greeting given to him he ignored, his eye dead ahead of him the entirety of his march.
He approached the stable doors, adjusting the heavy bags weighing his right shoulder down. He briefly glanced to a stable-boy sitting near before speaking out to him, in a tone that showed little friendliness.
“Which horses have no riders?”
The skinny boy rose up from his resting place near the hay-bale and looked around, his words unable to escape for a few moments until he managed to point out down to one stall at the end.
“Down there, there is a white one who lost his rider a couple of weeks back. He’s a bit wild, but if you can ride him, you can have him.”
Athladain moved down the stalls then, without a word of thanks to the boy. His eye looked at each horse in turn, chewing lazily upon the hay and oats given to them, until he came to the last stall. The horse was not much to look at; dirty and with a thickening winter coat, though it looked sturdy and swift enough but luckily it was already saddled up. The soldier opened up the gate and stepped in and already he could see the horses distrust as the ears flicked back.
A long breath escaped through the nose of the man as he reached out to pat the horse on the neck, though it was startled it did not rear however the hooves still clattered on the stone flooring. He reached up higher and took hold of the bridle while placing his packs on the horses back. Despite the discomfort of the horse, Athladain managed to climb up into the saddle, digging his heels in into the beasts flanks to spur it off down the aisle.
Hooves clattered on the stone as the rider was thrown about, though he managed to grip and pull on the reins enough to keep the horse moving. It would take time for the horse and the rider to finally gain a bond together, though they had plenty of time for it. Now that he had spent his time trying to do what he could, it was time for him to leave these troubles behind and venture elsewhere. To see the world, to earn himself a living, and perhaps even enjoy himself in doing so.
