The rain was so pleasant. It drummed upon the roof with a sound like a great, purring beast in the sky. It turned the stable into a haven, a refuge. A hideout. She could smell the dampness through the familiar scents of straw and manure. It made these other fragrances richer in her nostrils, and as she lay on her belly in the hayloft, gazing out over the rows of stalls below, she sneezed.
“Brynleigh!” A voice rang out from far away. Her mother’s voice. And then, a beat later. “Éohard, where is she?”
The pattering of the spring storm had been accented with the rhythmic rapping of a hammer. Her father was just outside the stable doors, tending to a timber that had come loose, but now the sound paused. “In the stable, most likely,” he called back to his wife, in a tone somewhat weary.
A tiny squeak erupted from the girl in the loft. She could hear her mother’s voice continuing as she scrabbled to the nearby ladder that led down to the floor below. “Well, send her in! We’ve lessons to do! It’s bad enough that you let her run wild in there like a barn cat.” The woman’s voice dropped low, and the child could clearly envision her mother turning to retreat from the rain with her skirts hoisted. Mumbled words about suitors and marriage drifted for a few seconds before melting away.
“Let her be.” The man’s voice muttered to the rain. “Barely six summers of life. Let her be a child, for Béma’s sake.” A heavy, chest-deep sigh followed.
Small, pale hands and bare feet were hastening down the stable ladder. The girl jumped the last few rungs in her haste, landing with a light thump that was not heard from without. Most of the stall doors were left open. The horses had been let out to pasture at dawn, save the heaviest brood-mares who needed closer tending, and any others who preferred to wait out the storm on a bed of dry straw. She darted into the closest stall just as her father’s shadow darkened the stable doorway.
“Brynleigh?” came the expected call. His voice seemed to fill all the wide space under the vaulted ceiling. She felt it following her, bearing down on her back, even as she scrambled behind the stocky legs of a surprised horse. The animal turned its head to peer after the child.
“Brynleigh!”
From behind tousled bangs that hung like strands of white-gold silk, a pair of rounded sapphire eyes met the horse’s stare. A chunky little finger was laid in front of rosy, bow-shaped lips, in a hushing gesture.
“Brynleigh.” Her father’s voice was quieter now. Knowing. Gentle, but losing patience. His heavy boots were coming along the breezeway.
The horse, who was immensely thick of body and limb, and covered in a patchwork of black and white, swiveled its great head to face forward again.
The footsteps went past the stall. To the end of the corridor, where they paused briefly, before making their way back once more. Another sigh trailed her father’s shadow, as he departed the stable to resume his task in the rain.
The wiry tail flicked, whipping her suddenly in the face. Her hands flew up, startled, and she tripped backwards, falling hard onto her bottom.
Her savior turned, shifting his mighty hooves with great care, lest he accidentally trod upon the tiny figure. She was giggling now, with both hands pressed hard to her mouth to stifle the noise.
Something about this struck a chord of pleasure within the heart of the young stallion. His head flicked upward, and a forehoof struck lightly at the straw-hewn floor. Then he stepped forward, lowering his muzzle to snuff at the child. It was not the first time they had beheld each other, after all. But it was the closest encounter so far in their acquaintance.
The hot breath from the cavernous nostrils made the girl squint and scrunch up her mouth. She pulled her feet in close and held perfectly still for the inspection. Velvety nostrils butted against her cheek, and then her nose. A small arm came up to rub away the itch that was left behind.
When the closeness seemed to draw away, she opened her eyes. The horse had folded his forelegs, and soon after his hindquarters came down with a heavy plop, and a cloud of dust. With his back to the rest of the stable, he looked down on his new companion with wide-set eyes of deep chestnut. He did not comprehend entirely, why she needed to hide here. But he would aid her as he could.
The girl was gazing up at her gargantuan guardian in wonder and awe. Delight followed, high and dazzling, in the smile that broke over her small features. “Thank you!” she whispered.
