| Heartwood Logs |
2000-01-11
| Heartwood |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
First Horse
One could not get farther from one's home. This far from the Highgaard Reaches, beneath the shadow of Amber Keep, in the savanna at the edge of the Plains of Kaa. Most amazing was simply how flat these low rolling lands are, where the far horizon just falls away in a sky blue haze at the very edge of sight. Home was mountain valleys, cut deep into black and gray rock, on the other side of the Satin River, on the other side of the Skaefla Plateau, on the other side of the Greenlands, on the other side of the world. Sharp eyes noticed the first signs of the clan's encampment yestermorn or noon, but it wasn't until Her light vanished and the stars came out that they finally reached the first tents.
Morning came in its lazy way, sneaking through the colorful canvas, soft and gentle. The camp itself was equally slow to wake, taking its time, no rush or hurry. And when the mountain lass finally awoke, her teacher had left a cup of tea by Brisa's pillow, and she could see Verchovai Poppy Gwynn's shadow against the side of the tent.
Brisa sits up with a small gasp of excitement -- horses today! She notices the tea and dutifully drinks it... she tries to savor it slowly, like the Verchovai does, but her ears feel like they'd prick if they could, listening intently for the sounds of the horses she's dreamed about for so long.
Outside Poppy quietly finishes a simple observation. "...and we have been blessed by your cousin Nehrimstel's grace too, I see."
Brisa finally gives up and gulps the last mouthfuls, tossing on her clothing hastily and raking her fingers through her hair at the same time... objectively she knows she's going to have to redo her ever-recalcitrant braid, but that's just not important right now -- until she hears Poppy's voice. Erk... wouldn't want to embarrass her by looking like a Romany... she pauses, quickly tucking in her braccas, straightening her tunic, and more tightly braiding her hair... then she takes a deep breath and emerges from the tent, trying hard to look calm and composed.
Halahmbrah Camp
It is a continual bustle, amidst the tents
and tarps of the Halahmbrah clan. Each household has their own great
pavilion, made from a chaotic collection of sturdy linens, most dyed
in dark browns or greens, homage towards the plains upon which they
ride. Ruffs and herd beasts bark and squeal, matched only by the racing
whines of the Amber children, their mothers talking in pairs while
keeping a watchful eye out. At the edge of hearing, however, is the
familiar whuffle of horses, their hoof beats muffled against the soft
ground. Ever-present, for they are at the center of the encampment's
heart.
Brisa looks around happily, breathing in deeply... then excitedly looks for the Verchovai or Lightning Hooves.
A step outside the tent Poppy stands with her arms quietly crossed atop her stark white tunics, looking beyond the camp, where a fullhand of paces away the Amber horses mill and graze. Each movement, each ripple of muscle, like a song set to flesh. Beside her stands a tall Amber lordling. His frame is strict and severe, his build lanky. He wears several layers of robes of brown, and they swirl loose and light as the morning breeze nips by. It catches his pale blonde hair and tousles it. But his sharp azure eyes too are focused on his pride, the horses beyond.
"And cousin Terilanquel too." The tall lord nods in the herd's direction. There, a closer look, and one can see that it is not a homogenous collection, but three carefully maintained and distinct strings. He turns a glance as the tent flap wraps rustles behind him. First one look, then a second. His eyes narrow for a perceptible heartbeat, but then he just shakes his head, as if banishing a dream, and returns his attention to Poppy Gwynn. "But I do hope you will be pleased by one of Halahmbrah's own?" "
Brisa bows courteously to the Halahmbran lordling, and keeps a politely proper distance... although her excited eyes also are fastened on the beautiful horses... almost to the exclusion of everything else around her. She starts trying (like any rabid horse-lover) to pick out the differences, the strengths and any apparent weaknesses, in the three separate herds. She's curious as to why they're kept so carefully separate... perhaps they belong to the cousins she's heard mentioned? Hmm... blessed by someone's grace... very formal sounding. She'll have to watch her manners especially close here, she thinks. The prospect of offending the Halahmbrans is too terrible to contemplate -- they might not let her near the horses if she did so! and um, right... the Verchovai would be upset...
The herd was nothing less than grand, each movement and stomp of hoof betraying only the fine lines and confirmation that proclaimed that these were Amber horses, the finest beneath Her gaze. Poppy didn't even glance to the side as Brisa stood forward, instead preferring to watch the horses a bit herself. Finally, though, after a quiet eternity, she slowly looks to their host. "My lord Fakhri djal Khari kjal Halahmbra, might you consider my apprentice? Her name is Brisa, and she hails from the farms high in the Black Mountains."
Brisa bows politely again to the lord, "My lord..." She tries hard to look as calm and collected as the Verchovai as she straightens... although her eyes light up and the corners of her mouth tend to delightedly quirk every time she glances at the horses.
"Brisa." The Amber lord nods his head in a slow simple motion, but heavy with formality. His gaze is equally heavy, his dark eyes catching hers, almost as if he was not looking at her but into her. Fahkri tests her name as if tasting a familiar wine, one heartbeat, then two. He notices each quirk, each stolen glance. Then he smiles. "They are beautiful, are they not?"
Brisa doesn't even realize she's doing it -- her whole face lights up as she automatically turns her gaze back to the wonderful horses, and her softly breathed response is heartfelt in its simplicity, "Oh yes!"
"My cousin Jawdat djal Bakr kjal Terilanquel wishes to present you with one of Terilanquel's children. And of course, since they hear every whisper in the morning fog, cousin Hikmat djal Qadir kjal Nehrimstel seems to have magicked a handful of their charges for your consideration. We must be truly blessed by such a presence," Kahkri's eyes dart sharply to Poppy as he continues, "-to have Terilanquel and Nehrimstel here for the choosing of her first horse. Of course, we would also humbly wish you might consider one of my brother's charges."
Poppy nods quietly to Brisa. "My lord is much too modest. His brother, Brisa, is Khashall Khalil djal Yushua kjal Halahmbra, lord of the Plains of Kaa, defender of the Golden Hooves, and last of the Skaefla Pirates."
Brisa nods, slightly wide-eyed... she's meeting the brother of the Halhambrahn Khorall?! They want to give her a horse?! She feels faintly dizzy with breathless excitement for a moment... then pulls herself together, mentally scolding herself -- they'll think she's fresh off the farm if she tips over! Mortifying... she bows again, trying to think of something suitably graceful and thankful to say... "I... am overwhelmed by your kindness and attention, my lord." There! Hopefully that will work, and be properly formal... and, she reflects with wry amusement, it was almost nothing less than the truth! She wonders a moment later though, as the sharp glance to Poppy registers... what did the Verchovai do, that they'd all want her to chose one of their horses -- an Amber horse! -- for an unimportant little someone like Brisa?!
Fahkri slowly bows his head, his folded and hands lost in the sleeves of his flowing robes. "We are all but motes upon the plains, Companion. However, I think we are both forgetting what it is like to be young. Come, why are we here, when the horses are there."
Brisa takes a quick, excited breath -- then takes another, slower one, trying to calm down. She's obviously wearing her heart on her sleeve here, she reflects amusedly to herself... must remember to walk slowly, take deep slow breaths... she continues to try hard to emulate the slow dignity of the Verchovai and the Halambrahn Khorall's-brother.
The Halahmbran's pace is slow, not formal but easygoing. As if everything was fated, and there was no use rushing to get to the herd, for they would get there when they were appointed to get there. Brisa keeps in step, guarding her excitement close, while Poppy followed behind, her sharp gaze watching the two in front of her.
As they approach, the three strains are easy to tell apart. The first group of horses all are tall, their coats dark, and they never seem to walk, their long legs built for running. The second group is being watched over by a sturdy fellow in robes of brown and white. He has dark hair, a full beard, and his horses are bays and roans. They emulate the nature of the Amber lord, their gait is easy and sure. The last are soft gray, the color of fog. They are being safeguarded by a short man be-covered in layers and layers of travelworn cloth, black trimmed with streaks of gold. These horses just quietly mill, their ears perked and forward.
Brisa is almost unconsciously studying the horses, her gaze eager. The beautiful long-legged horses she thinks are probably swift and graceful as the wind... but she can't see them skittering sure-footedly up and down the rocky mountains of her homeland... she studies the horses of fog, smiling faintly, remembering childhood daydreams of the light-footed dancing Faerie horses. Hmm... she watches them more closely... how are they different from the calm, sure-moving bays and roans, aside from the color of their coats? She also observes curiously how the horses move around the men watching over them... do they move by unconcernedly? nuzzle for petting and treats? stay clear of the men? or something else entirely?
Poppy quietly walks up behind Brisa and Fahkri. "The tall black one, the racer, he is yours, isn't he, lord Fahkri? So these are his children." Poppy looks from one horse to another. "That must be cousin Jawdat, with the Terilanquel bays and Cousin Hikmat with the Nehrimstel..." Poppy lets her words fall off, however, as her attention suddenly wanders. As Poppy speaks, Brisa also takes a second look. The Terilanquel horses seem sturdier than the horses of the other clans, with strong musculature and a well balanced pace. Where the Halahmbra thoroughbreds might skitter at a sudden commotion in the camp, they take the disturbance with an air of calm. The Nehrimstel horses though, while they don't spook, their attention is certainly gotten, heads and ears following the slightest sound.
As if confirming Poppy's words, a tall black stallion clip clops to the rope fence line as Fahkri approaches. There is a bright nuzzle, almost expectant, almost petulant, until the Amber lord pats his head and offers a small tidbit as a treat. The horses under Jawdat's gaze wander quietly, comfortable beneath his gaze. The Nehrimstel horses however, each seems to have their own individual agendas.
Brisa watches the Terilanquel and Nehrimstel horses thoughtfully, trying to figure out what makes them different... an alert mount is certainly a blessing when traveling, and alertness is often a sign of curiosity and intelligence. She wonders why the Terilanquel horses are so calm... could there be cold blood crossed in through the line? And more importantly -- is that calm or indifference in their gaze? She grins at the black's imperious nuzzle -- she's suddenly reminded of Lightning Hooves!
Brisa's gaze wanders, slowly drinking in as much as she can... then she blinks, realizing she's being observed right back! She grins faintly, studying the curious horse studying her... what's this one like?
The Amber lord watches Brisa as he slowly rubs the nose of his horse. A shadow might cross his countenance, but that just might be a trick of the morning light. Poppy finally brings her attention back to Brisa, and without a word turns to follow her apprentice's gaze. And gazing back at the three is a sturdy gray mare, perhaps sixteen hands tall. Smaller than the quiet Terilanquel critters and the tall and fine Halahmbra steeds, her ears are up, pivoting every now and then at a new clip clop or whuffle. Her tawny forelock is tousled, and her mane is long, and every so often she paces a bit.
Brisa watches the mare quietly for a while... nothing important, just sort of absorbing how she moves, what she perks up at, how she stands, the look in her eyes... she wonders why the mare's watching her instead of the Verchovai or the lord... she wonders if the mare's dark nose is as soft and velvety as it looks... she notes absently that her forelock needs untangling and there's a touch of desert dust on her soft gray coat -- she has a brush in her pack, of course, that'd be no trouble to fix right up -- she wonders if the little mare wants to go a-wandering and adventuring as much as she wants to, and if she'd like the little bit of carrot that Brisa usually keeps tucked in her sleeve for Lightning Hooves... it's quite natural to meet the little mare half-way, of course, at the fence, and offer her the small treat and whisper softly, "...hi... what's your name? D'you want to go wonder-walking as much as I do?"
The mare carefully clip-clops up to the fence, confident; she assuredly knows where each hoof is placed. Of course she doesn't answer directly; she is just a horse after all. At the pet she whuffles, and investigates the sleeve of Brisa's tunic. However the look she does give back is telling, as if to say I was watching you... because you were watching me.
The rest of the world seems to fade away at the realization that the pretty mare's nose is as wondrously soft as she'd imagined, of course, and naturally enough it's only polite to gently run the fingers of her free hand through the forelock, carefully straightening it while the mare nuzzles the carrot and thinks about whether to eat it or not...
Brisa grins happily and gently rubs the base of one small ear as the mare carefully checks to be sure she's not missed any lurking bits of carrot. She feels funny inside... almost breathless; her skin is tingling, and she can feel the sharp sting of tears, although she doesn't feel sad at all. In fact, she can't ever recall feeling this happy... like her chest can't hold in all her breath any more or something... she leans her forehead against the mare's curving neck and breaths in her warm, horsy scent. She must be dreaming... this can't be true. Her, little Brisa who was always in trouble for dawdling over chores and daydreaming over the horses... and... a horse. A real horse -- this one! this pretty little gray with dark points and flaxen mane and tail... she smiles tightly into the mare's soft fur, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment. If this is a dream... she wants to never wake up...
The little mare simply drops her head as her long muzzle is patted, and then she just leans forward and whumfs Brisa firm upon her chest. There is a whisper of laughter from Poppy. "I think she's chosen, Lord Fahkri." Poppy's words are simple and true, but she wisely doesn't identify just who has chosen whom.
Fahkri just slips a hand through his dirty blonde hair, before quietly shaking his head. Then he slowly nods, "Strange ones, Companion, Nehrimstels be. But who am I to gainsay one of yours."
Poppy simply nods in reply, and yes, there is a trace of a smile on her face. Fahkri makes a short and sharp movement of his hand, horizontal to the ground. The two cousins slowly begin to gather up their unchosen offerings, to string them behind their own personal mounts.
Brisa laughs softly at the little mare's firm nudge, grabbing a handful of mane to brace herself at the unexpectedness of it. She rubs her face quick with her free hand, then continues running her hands along the pretty mare, getting to know her... how her forehead dishes gracefully into her soft, dark muzzle, how her small ears flick impatiently when touched but tilt happily out at having the base of the ear gently rubbed... how her mane likes falling untidily half on one side of her long neck and half on the other -- that's all right, assiduous care will straighten it out in no time! -- how the curves of her strong neck show the graceful muscle beneath the soft pale-gray coat... Brisa looks up, blinking absently as she returns to the world, noticing the other horses moving away... She looks suddenly embarrassed, glancing hastily at the Verchovai... hopefully she's not missed any cues or hints or anything? not ignored the Halahmbran lord accidentally, or done anything rude? She hopes the Verchovai's not decided on another horse for her... she worries a bit -- how can she hint politely that this is the one she wants?
The mare's ears do flicker, but it's because she too notices the retreat of her companions. She spares them a last glance before returning to Brisa's attentions, leaning into her and whuffling quietly. Poppy's gaze, when Brisa looks back, is calm and quiet. "No worries, Brisa." Poppy looks up to Fahkri. "You have my thanks, Fahkri djal Khari kjal Halahmbra, friend to Windsong. Please forgive her naivete, for choosing one of your cousin's proud lines. But it is what is fated, aye? Just like one of these fine black colts must be for your brother, or..." She lets the sentence fall away.
The lordling laughs. "Man can do many things, but he can not change the mind of a horse. Especially one of theirs. Even if she was the lowest brat of my servant's servants, the matter is now set."
Brisa looks a little puzzled. Something just happened there... did she do something rude? She loops an arm up around the pretty mare's neck, rubbing her smooth neck, then absently, gently scritches her withers in that spot that horses love so much and can't reach on their own, as she watches the lordling and the Verchovai talk, with alert curiosity in her eyes. She unwittingly rather looks, in fact, quite like the pretty mare did a moment ago, for all that she's now contentedly leaning into Brisa's scritchings... alert and interestedly curious!
With a delightful rustle of mane, the mare shakes her strong neck as she is scritched. One hoof stamps once upon the ground, as she watches both Brisa and her two companions.
Brisa sorts things out as she watches, puzzling with the new and fascinating information... she wonders if maybe 'djal' means... hmm... perhaps it refers to the mother's family name, like the dam of a horse is known? Which would make 'kjal' perhaps refer to the sire or father's family?
Taking a long breath, Poppy slowly turns, one toe dragging in the dusty ground as she does. While she gives Fahkri a slow, sidelong look, she speaks to Brisa first. "Your friend needs a name, Brisa..." She take a second step, as Fahkri also turns away, sending his own steed galloping off with a commanding slap. The black horse literally leaps into the air, released, to thunder off across the sparse fields. This time he keeps pace with Brisa's teacher, not noticing the balance in Poppy's walk, simple and sure, expressionless, just like when she... just like when she plays doublebluff.
Brisa ponders... if djal refers to the dam, that would make Khari a female name. Khari... she rolls the word around in her head... what a pretty name... for a pretty woman, she's sure. She beams happily, glancing down at her pretty gray lady... if she can quietly check with the Verchovai, make sure it wouldn't be accidentally insulting or anything... she thinks Khari would be a perfectly lovely name for her perfectly lovely little mare here.
"How is your brother, the Khashall?" Poppy innocently asks.
Brisa blinks, her head coming up to watch the Verchovai alertly. Something's happening again -- but what? She tries to figure out the clues... she studies the ground -- why did the Verchovai drag one foot? She's not lame... did she leave some mark in the dirt? Is there something else she should notice?
"The Khashall is blessed with many colts, fair health and peaceful times," Fahkri folds his hands together as the two walk. "...and he is hosting the envoy from the Lord Kierkegaard in our keep this eve. For to our friends of the mountains, he offers his dear and own Barakah djen Khalinda kjal Halahmbra to wed the son of Khashall Kierkegaard. Indeed, I am bound there this very night."
Poppy simply walks quiet, each paced measured and balanced. For the briefest moment the Verchovai seems completely harmless, like a town goodwife or Amber lady kept shrouded in veils, in simple and casual conversation.
Brisa blinks again puzzledly. She's not sure what just went on there... but maybe it'd be smart to follow the Verchovai's lead here. It is a strange new place, after all... much though she'd love to run around and watch folks and horses and ask questions and learn everything she possibly can here! She tries to remember how to walk like a girl, instead of the way she usually strides...
She hmms to herself... if Khashall is the name of a Khorall in Amber, and he's referred to as having many colts... then perhaps they won't mind her naming her pretty gray lady with a woman's name? -if, that is, it actually is a woman's name... she needs to get the Verchovai aside at some point, to check privately, she thinks. Of course... Khalinda's pretty too... but for some reason she just likes Khari better. Shorter, simpler... more elegant, she happily decides, smoothing Khari's mane all to one side. She pats Khari's smooth neck, and whispers softly to her, just for her small ears, "Khari... is that a female name? You like? Khari, Khari... if the Verchovai says it's okay, it's yours!"
Brisa looks up suddenly -- Kierkegaard?! Wow, she's never seen the Khorall of her home keep! Should be interesting! Hmm... she wonders when she's going to have to leave Khari... then reluctantly decides she should probably stick with the Verchovai and leave Khari outside of any tent they may end up going into, even though (she thinks without a shred of self-consciousness) Khari's far more interesting than any Khorall -- even her own. She pats Khari's smooth neck again, following behind the Verchovai and the lordling -- then impulsively decides to give Khari something of hers. Something nice... what has she got that's nice enough for Khari? Umm... ah! She hastily yanks the ribbon out of her braid -- it's the only one she has, for formal occasions like meeting strange new lords -- and smoothes it carefully between her fingers, then braids it neatly into a thin strand of Khari's mane.
Poppy continues on their way, a slow and easy stroll. By now, with her long stride only just changing, Brisa has caught up to the two, the mare gently clip-clopping up behind. The mare seems completely pleased with her name, responding to the attention with a friendly and kind muzzle. Poppy, if she heard, doesn't respond. Instead she asks a second innocent question. "And how is your sister, Lord Fahkri djal Khari kjal Halahmbra?"
It is all Brisa can do to stop from running into the Amber lord, the Khashall's brother, as his heavy leather boots dig into the harsh ground, his halt sudden and abrupt. Fahkri's head turns, his bleached blonde hair snapping like a whip, his blue eyes afire.
"I have no sister."
He turns away, his robes flaring with a swirl of cloth and the jangle of spurs. "I beg my leave." His words are clipped so sharp and short. "Good day, Companion. As I said, I must be in the Keep by nightfall."
Brisa looks up startledly as the lordling turns away, then hastily bows in delayed courtesy at his departure. Poppy slowly crosses her arms, silently nodding. She too stops, and just watches him storm away, without a word.
Brisa watches him stride away, one hand resting on Khari's crest, her mouth hanging open in surprise... then, when he's out of hearing she turns to look blankly at the Verchovai, "Uhh... what...?" Her voice trails off as she wonders... should she even ask?
With a sly smile, Poppy simply glances sideways to Brisa. "Just because you have a new horse doesn't mean you should forget to think, my apprentice. Think. Then ask."
Brisa abruptly closes her mouth and nods. She takes a deep breath -- remember, calm and collected! she thinks... "Is Khari a woman's name in Amber, Verchovai? And um..." one finger twirls unconsciously in Khari's mane as she shyly adds, "Is it um... acceptable here to name a horse after a woman, Verchovai?" She hastily adds, "A very pretty horse, of course?"
Poppy pauses, and simply places her hand upon her forehead. She looks up to the sun with an extremely rare 'why me?' expression. But when she looks down, she nods. "If Khari is her name, and it fits with the two of you it is perfectly fine. However, in all her wisdom, why does She... well, let's put it this way. You'll know my very first apprentice. She seems to have similar tastes to yours. Her mare's name is Frederick."
Brisa tilts her head to one side, watching Poppy and wondering what's causing her such exasperation. She nods, "I think Khari likes it, yes," then curiously adds, "When will I meet your first apprentice, Verchovai? Is she the Khor- uh, the Khashall's sister? Is that why the lord Fakhri seems um... unhappy?" She leans against Khari's neck when Poppy looks away for a moment, and adds in a whisper just to her pretty mare, "Maybe she's got tastes like mine... but Frederick couldn't possibly be as pretty or elegant as you!"
Poppy blinks and laughs, "Oh no! She is as far from a proper Amber lady as one might be. However, I don't happen to know what trouble she's gotten herself into now, but you'll know definitely her when you meet her. And no, Frederick is a destrier. Not Amber bred at all. And I bet Frederick came from the same farm as that other horse. As for Fahkri's sister... well... I simply asked an interesting question. Until now I only suspected he might have had a sister."
Brisa looks puzzled again, "What other horse, Verchovai? And... why are you um..." she wonders how to ask this politely... better start over, perhaps, "Um... would you suggest that it would be wisest for me to not ask personal questions of Amber lords, Verchovai?" There, she thinks... now to see if courtesy and formality is as big a thing here as I thought it was.
Poppy smiles quietly, "While you were watching the strings, I looked at the horses their master rode. Fahkri had the best of the Halahmbra horses, Jawdat a good and sturdy Terilanquel. They are known for their endurance and calm temperament. I suspected that the Nehrimstel might be the smartest of them... but I found it interesting that the Nehrimstel chose a non Amber horse for his own mount. As for Fahkri... they are a very polite people here. But the question was worth the loss of face."
Brisa looks surprised, "He did? How... odd... I didn't even notice it!" She smoothes Khari's mane, thinking, then adds wonderingly, "Why would an Amber lord ride a horse from elsewhere... when he's surrounded by the most beautiful horses in the world? A horse from... from the same farm as the horse of your first apprentice? Is the Nehrimstel lord a friend of yours too?"
Poppy shakes her head, "They are a private and quiet lot. As you must have overheard, the other three clans think the Nehrimstel are... strange. My only thought is that either the trader was poor, or he's found a horse better than the Amber breeds."
Brisa wishes a little wistfully that she had as many fascinating and interesting friends in as many exotic places... as the Verchovai has... she straightens indignantly, "Khari is not strange -- she's smart! And maybe he just wanted a war-horse!" She pats Khari reassuringly as she adds, "I certainly wouldn't ride Khari into battle -- not without really good barding for her!" She quietly and absently runs her fingers through Khari's mane again, straightening as she thoughtfully adds, "So... for the lord Fahkri to disavow his sister, she must have done something very... not proper for Amber? You must know something or someone that made you suspicious, so you'd ask him that?"
Poppy rubs her chin with one hand. "Perhaps. That makes a modicum of sense, Brisa. I think you might be right. And yes, she's smart. Even if Lightning Hooves will never admit it."
Brisa blinks at the very thought -- Khari not smart? Impossible. She pushes aside the disloyal thought that maybe Lightning Hooves doesn't know everything there is to know about horses. He just doesn't know Khari yet, obviously.
Poppy pauses at their borrowed tent only long enough to collect their gear. She tucks her bedroll under her arm, as they now continue to walk out of the camp. "That is what I suspected. In Amber, that could mean many things. She might have fell for the wrong lord. Marriages are strictly arranged between the clans. She might have hurt a horse, or worse, gotten one killed. As for me, I was following a hunch. A trail I picked up... following horse-traders, that's all."
Brisa blinks -- they're leaving?! She's startled... that's it? Just pick a horse, walk away with it? How... strange, to her. No one to pat Khari and bid her a sad farewell and good fortune? No greeting of the Verchovai, or including her in their wedding party? Well... Brisa thinks it sounded like a wedding... ah, maybe that's what the question about the sister did -- made the lordling not ask the Verchovai to the party! She shakes her head in awe, wondering if she'll ever be as smart and subtle and sneaky as the Verchovai. Following the Verchovai, she thinks a bit, then shakes her head again, speculating, "She couldn't have hurt or killed a horse, surely... the horses are too beautiful. Maybe she just fell for the wrong lord? What was the trail you were following?" She muses silently, then adds curiously, "So... why did the lord Fahkri look at me so funny when I came out of the tent, Verchovai?" She blinks in sudden worry, "I didn't have straw in my hair again, did I?!"
Reaching out to pat the younger girl on the shoulder, Poppy smiles. "I picked a smart lass to apprentice, didn't I." She looks back at the gray mare and nods. "And why did the Khashall's brother look at you funny? That, Brisa...
...that is a very interesting question."