Autumn did not come quite so swift in the southern plains of the Riddermark. While many trees boasted crowns of crimson and gold, there was still a lushness to the grass underfoot. The air would find a measure of warmth at midday, but on this particular morning, a crisp, damp breeze was frolicking over the hills near Edoras. Shredded puffs of clouds darted lowly over the heaths, throwing shadows that appeared and melted on a whim.
The packed-earth streets of the hamlet called Bancross were quiet and empty. After the sunlit vivacity of summertime, it seemed the townsfolk preferred a cozy indoor hearth on such a fall morning.
But certain duties did not care for the weather, were it rain or shine, chilly or sweltering. Bellies needed to be filled, thirsts slaked, and manes untangled. And so the door of the Bancross stable stood wide, allowing the brisk air to filter through and bring a freshness with it. The woman within did not mind it’s cool caress, nor find it objectionable. The youthful curves of her figure were shrouded in a loose-fitted work dress that might be green under a proper bit of light, but seemed dull and grey in the shadows. Flaxen hair that was almost white instead of gold, lay along the curve of her spine in a single, tidy plait.
A round brush was strapped to her hand, and its coarse bristles moved steadily down the flank of a large, piebald stallion. He stood with his proud head bowed low, and the whisk of his tail flicking lazily beneath the pleasant touch.
“Will this be our new home, Jack?” said the woman. The pointed ear closest to her flicked.
“What is a home, after all?” Her voice carried on, soft and melodious. “‘Tis more than a house. More than thatch and timber and stone.”
The breeze gave an impatient gust, as if it too wanted some input towards the conversation. Jack lifted his cavernous nostrils to the incoming wind while the brush worked through his coarse mane in sharp, short movements.
“Home is where one’s heart resides,” said the woman, and her hand slowly stilled. Midnight-blue eyes found a vague spot on the floor and lingered there.
The horse was not pleased with the lapse in his grooming. His great muzzle came about and nudged against the woman’s shoulder, jostling her from her daydream.
Her head flew up and she smiled, and resumed the work. “And our hearts are only within us. Aren’t they, dearest Jack?” The smile ebbed, and a melancholy light touched her eyes. “I thought perhaps I could lay mine down once or twice, but…” The gentle words faded into silence. A faint sheen glazed over the sapphire eyes. Seconds ticked past and there was only the sound of the wind, the low stomping of nearby hooves in other stalls, and the scratch of the brush.
She set her jaw, thinned her lips, and gave a loud sniff. “Not yet.”
