 There were few things Tristan enjoyed more than riding. There was nothing quite like the steady company of a horse. On horseback he felt free; he could lose himself in the exhilaration of the creatures’ speed, in the power of its muscles and the thunder of its hooves. The prince had always been a fearless rider, ever since he had been small and had first been helped up onto a squat little pony. At first he hadn’t realised that his relationship with horses was different from other people. As a child he had assumed that everyone could hear the thoughts of their mounts, but it hadn’t been long before people had started asking him questions. Tristan had been able to sooth the flightiest horses and ride the most stubborn of stallions; he understood them, and now that he had lost his magic he missed their voices. They didn’t care that he was a prince, they didn’t expect anything, and they just let him be him. Tristan wished he could explain to them just how much that meant to him.
As they cleared the tree line Tristan gave Hal his head and with a gentle squeeze of his legs urged the horse up through its paces. The prince glanced at his grandfather out of the corner of his eye and then grinned. He steered Hal off to the left and aimed him at the rotting trunk of a forgotten tree poking out from the grass.
“C’mon boy,” he muttered to the horse, patting him on the neck again as he gathered up the reins again. Hal shivered his excitement as he realised what his master was asking him for and steadied his pace a little. Together they pounded up to the trunk, and a few paces away Hal gathered himself and jumped. They sailed through the air, effortlessly clearing their obstacle. In the height of the jump Tristan released his hold on the reins, held his arms out to either side of him and whooped. The ground came nearer and he snatched up the reins again just in time to gather Hal together for their landing. They picked up their gallop again, edging their way back to Mallos and Ambassador; Tristan was laughing.
Celidon was the inevitably the first to catch them when they slowed back to a trot. He might have been able to keep pace, but he had decided it was a better use of his time to keep an eye on the shepherd dogs. Their long pink tongues lolled out of their mouths as they finally joined the rest of the party, their front paws loosened at their ankles by exhaustion giving their walk a rather comedic appearance from the front. Tristan reached into the leather pouch on his belt and tossed all three a generous chunk of venison meat. Mallos’ question caught the prince by surprise. If any other member of his family had asked he might have blushed but...it was different with his Grandfather. He couldn’t have put into words why it was different, it just was.
“You know me,” Tristan joked, his smile broadening, “beating them off with a stick.” He leaned forwards to pat Hal on the neck again as he drew the horse back into a walk so that the creature might recover enough for another gallop.
“Not exactly,” he admitted, answering the question more seriously. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at the memory of the housekeeper wandering into his room at the wrong moment...and his father’s face in the office later.
“You wouldn’t believe how short on privacy a prince is.” He shook his head and then grinned again, “how about you?”
 |
|