 The footfalls of the horse that burst into the stable block were curiously light; even the smallest ponies were significantly heavier. It was not the first time in recent days that Tristan had been frustrated by his lack of magic. He missed being able to sense the thoughts of the horses. He had enjoyed their company. It was nice sometimes to get away from the kids of the court whilst still having someone to talk too. The fairy footsteps that followed after the strange horse were of a more regular variety. Tristan was a good enough tracker and scout to discern that whoever it was they were probably male and most certainly tall and long legged. Neither fact however helped him very much. He still had no idea who it was.
Tristan looked down as Miriam’s hand closed nervously over his knee. Convinced she had understood that she needed to keep quiet he removed his hand from over her mouth and waited with baited breath for whoever it was to stable their horse and leave. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite so simple. A few moments later the sound of hoof beats grew suddenly quicker and hooves impacted with the wood of the stable door at their backs. The horse lowered its head towards them. Miriam screamed. The prince barely had time to register the fact that the horse was lacking any kind of flesh muscle or tissue and was instead made entirely of bone, before Miriam collided with his chest as she buried her head in his shoulder. The door bolt, which apparently had not slipped completely back into place, clicked free as Tristan was knocked against it and the whole thing swung open.
Falling backwards onto the cobbles with Miriam landing on top of him with an audible oof a sharp pain shot through Tristan’s arm. It was enough to make his eyes water. The prince landed at the feet of the skeleton horse that withdrew his head from the stable and nuzzled at Tristan’s face. Hay and sawdust clung to his hair and he found himself staring upside down at a teenage boy he had never met before. Gradually the sheer ridiculousness of the situation suddenly stuck Tristan and, still on his back, he broke into peals of laughter. A second later, Miriam had joined in.
“Nice horse,” Tristan said, recovering himself at last and climbing to his feet. He ran his fingers through his hair and brushed down his shirt and trousers. The bandage on his arm was dirty; his doctor would probably murder him when he had to go and ask him to replace it. It was worth it; it was good to laugh again. “I think you might have lost some parts of him on your way over here though,” teased the prince with a grin, “there’s usually a bit more padding...and well...a heart and all that other stuff.” The sunlight coming in through the small window to Tristan’s left caught the small silver crucifix, inset with a small emerald, which had tumbled out of the collar of the prince’s shirt on a leather thong it shared with a blunted raptor tooth. He noticed it reflecting a little patch of light onto the wall behind the other boy’s head.
He held out his hand for Torram to shake.
“I’m Tristan,” he said brightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
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