Whatever had compelled him to go fishing in the middle of the day, Roach was glad for it, in hindsight. He had always found it easier to catch fish than he did rabbits and birds and the like; the ones that scuttled and scurried and flew tended to break free from his (admittedly flimsy) traps, but with fish, as long as he was patient and had good enough bait, they’d come right to him. Perhaps that was it—he was much better at sitting and waiting than he was chasing after something, and although he could easily keep pace with larger prey, he wasn’t the most agile person on two legs. That fishing took so little effort on his part made it preferable to tiring himself out.

Today’s haul was particularly hefty. Most of them were small, granted, but he’d managed to snag a few big-ish ones, and all together, they were heavy enough for him to have to use both hands to carry the basket back home. Already, he was tossing ideas around in his head of what he could do with them; a stew would be the easiest, but grilled or baked fish was just as tasty, and he had plenty of leftover herbs he could use as seasoning. Oh, but he’d eaten the last of his vegetables, and with no green thumb of his own, he’d have to head into town to get more—that’d take up his whole day. Then he’d have to convince himself that no one who’d seen him had recognized him, and that he hadn’t been followed home, no matter how many shadows he’d seen skittering out of the corners of his eyes.

Roach’s mind wandered back to the roasted potatoes he’d eaten a few nights ago, and he found himself wishing that he knew someone who farmed, or at the very least gardened; they could teach him what they knew, and although he didn’t quite trust himself to try, he could be convinced, if it meant not having to return to Kaisermont.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he almost missed a peculiar sight—a horse, standing some ways off to his side. And when he’d stopped, blinked, and assured himself that he wasn’t seeing things, he took a longer look at it. His presence didn’t seem to bother it, as it continued grazing on the grasses at its hooves, though he knew better than to get too close to it. Whether wild or tame, horses could spook easily, and a spooked horse could kill a man—this one seemed tame, though, judging by the saddle on its back. But then where was its owner? He couldn’t see anyone else around—couldn’t hear or smell them, either.

“Are you… waiting for someone?” Roach asked the creature, remembering that he could, in fact, talk to most animals. That seemed like a good way to find out what it was doing here all by itself, out in the woods.

words ↠ thoughts

The horse gave a whinny in response. Roach hoped that he would be right in assuming that that meant yes, they were, in fact, waiting for someone; he had only ever tried communicating with animals a few other times, before this, and while some of them had been rather talkative, that hadn’t made them any easier to understand. At least this one seemed able to understand him.

Knowing that it was waiting made him reluctant to leave it alone. The Wilds were generally quiet, but there was no telling what other creatures might be out and about, nor how long the horse would have to wait. He might as well wait with it, he told himself, until its owner or whoever returned; that way, he wouldn’t have to wonder about it later, when his imagination would run wild and he’d inevitably begin to feel guilty for abandoning it to whatever horse-hungry beasts might come across it.

When the horse suddenly drew closer to him, Roach stiffened, not knowing what to expect. Then it started sniffing at his basket, attempting to nose its way inside. Roach didn’t want to touch it—touching it could very well upset it, or prompt it to bite him—but he didn’t want it in his fish, either, so he took a few steps back from it and tried to hold the basket away from its face. “Ah, I d-don’t think you’d want any of this,” he told it, not wanting to scold it. “They’re n-not horse treats…”

And then there was a whistle, so sudden and piercing that it made Roach start. He nearly dropped his basket, and as the horse backed away from him, he turned his head to see that a man had appeared. Tall and hard-looking, he cut an intimidating figure, but as Roach tentatively reached out to him with his heightened senses, he found that he could feel no ill will coming from him. His “aura” was calm, for now, and familiar in a way that he couldn’t quite place.

“Rude mule,” he said, gesturing at the horse, that had seemingly lost interest in his fish and gone to inspect whatever the man had brought with him, instead. Roach shook his head, willing his muscles to relax. “N-no, it’s fine,” he assured him. “He wasn’t bothering me, I was just… j-just wondering where his owner was. He said that he was waiting for them.” And then he made a face, realizing how strange that probably sounded. “I mean, I asked a-and he… anyway, I-I’m guessing that that’s you…?”

Feeling as though he’d made things awkward, Roach looked away from the man to focus on his horse, instead. “He’s… very healthy-looking,” he said, and although the comment sounded lame to his own ears, it was genuine. He was well-groomed, with an almost glossy coat; it was well worth some praise. “I can tell that you take good care of him.”

words ↠ thoughts

The man nodded. His horse was his best friend, he said; he’d named him Codrin, and found him when he was just a young colt. “Good mule. Rude mule,” he said, smiling at the horse as he munched away at an apple, and Roach could feel himself wanting to smile, as well, at their companionship. It was a sweet thing.

The intensity with which the man studied him, then, was cause for some discomfort. But Roach was too distracted by other things to shrink from his gaze—namely, that vague sense of familiarity that he felt from him. It was another moment until he realized what it was: this man, with his stilted speech, reminded him a lot of Leslie. Perhaps his native tongue wasn’t English, but some other language from a distant, foreign land—that or he simply preferred not to mince his words. He also had an animal companion, like Leslie had Cricket, only unlike the tiny dragon, Codrin probably wouldn’t grow big enough to eat the man, if he was ever hungry enough.

Sometimes, Roach wished that he had his own pet to keep him company—his home could feel depressingly empty, even with him in it. But he didn’t trust himself to take care of it properly; he’d do his best, certainly, but what if his best wasn’t good enough? The sheer amount of responsibility was too daunting for him.

“Vali,” the man said, pressing a hand to his chest, and Roach blinked at him, suddenly drawn out of his thoughts. “Oh… Roach,” he then said, mimicking the man’s motion with his own hand. “It’s n-nice to meet you, Vali. Do… do you live out here, or are you and Codrin just passing through…?”

words ↠ thoughts