I'm a Sucker for Lovers [Jon&Conor]

[xarae]

Thump. Thump. Thump. The rhythmic sound of hoof beats echoing in her head was a familiar sound. She loved it, craved it, needed it. Her cumbersome side-saddle had been shucked in her preference of her father's work saddle, a tough, heavy thing that creaked as Vern cantered serenely down the well trodden path. A wooden bucket was clutched in her left arm, her right hand pulling haphazardly at the reins. The stallion snorted in annoyance, but did not speed up or buck at the odd treatment, He was used to Isabel's ways, and did not mind being ridden in such a manner, as long as he wasn't being forced into field work once more.

The large bay horse picked his way carefully across the path, his movements measured. His lineage would surprise most, as he came from a hot-headed stallion and an even tempered old mare. His personality had been shaped by his rider over many years of galloping to and fro across the back pasture, a wild skirt flapping at his flanks. The horse blew slightly, casting a wary eye over his withers, as if checking that the rambunctious girl hadn't been unseated by any low passing tree branches.

Isabel bubbled with joy. Fetching water shouldn't be her favorite of tasks, but it was a more than welcome break from the tedium of tending her family's vegetable stall. The extra advantage was being able to spend time with her horse companion, even if she got some odd stares from the villagers as she clipped and clopped loudly through the square, sitting in a man's saddle with a bucket clutched in her arms.

They'd lean in, they'd whisper. Just more fodder for the bored housewives. Isabel seemed to be the constant subject of gossip. Did you hear? About that girl? The one that sees colors? Isabel sub-consciously rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. They could only be so lucky as to see in rainbows, as she did. "Vern," The older girl said quietly, the fresh taste of apples bursting on her tongue. Across her vision leaped a splash of maroon, Vern's signature color since he was but a colt. The horse pricked his ears curiously, though he was used to Isabel's pointless mutterings of his name and others'.

The names - they simply tasted too good to be kept silent. Silent and dead. No, they deserved to be vibrant, alive and colorful! Her heart leaped with joy thinking about all the wonderful names she'd collected over the years. Some collected rocks, some leaves, but Isabel collected names. She closed her eyes, reciting a few of her favorites, her lips moving quietly as she mouthed their syllables.

The large stallion came to a skidding halt as a branch brushed the tips of his ears, knowing full well that if he continued Isabel would be unseated. It had happened before, and the smart horse learned quickly. The branch thumped her lightly in the stomach, as he hadn't quite stopped quick enough, but it was enough time for Isabel to be prepared to brace herself and snap out of her reverie. With an annoyed sigh, she held the branch backwards and urged the bay on with a light nudge. He snorted and sprung into a strong working trot, holding his head high as the smell of pine flooded his nostrils.

Isabel smiled slightly at the high spirits of her horse. She did love spending time with Vern, but she knew if the water was not back within an hour or two, her mother would be extremely displeased. And probably send Emily out to the well for the next month or two, leaving me at the stall. With a quick click of her tongue and another, harder nudge, she set Vern at a hand gallop and leaned forward slightly in the saddle, the bucket slamming noisily against the tough saddle as the horse lengthened his stride. Isabel grinned like a loon as he continued to speed up, dodging tree branches quite nimbly for such a large beast.

Vern careened around a turn, slowing as Isabel tugged quietly on his reins. Her broke to a canter, a loose extended trot, then finally a slow walk. The well loomed ahead, its stones seeming almost imposing amongst the forest. Isabel could hear the stream nearby where she'd spent many a long summer afternoon lounging by the banks. She tugged again on the reins, and the obedient horse came to a halt. Isabel smiled confidently and vaulted over his side, landing with a quiet thump on the ground. Her ankles jarred painfully, as Vern was a shockingly large 17.3 hands, but she ignored her throbbing muscles. The girl gave Vern a stern look and dropped the reins to the ground. The great stallion heaved a sigh and dropped his head to graze. Knowing full well he wouldn't go anywhere, Isabel sidled over to the well and tied the rope onto the bucket, lowering it down carefully into the dark, dank cave-like structure. Once she heard the satisfying slap of wood on water, she hopped down off the stone wall, deciding she might as well relax a little before raising it up and heading home.

Isabel smiled sunnily at her horse as she stepped to his side, pressing his chest lightly and murmuring, "Down." It was a trick she'd taught him years ago when he had still been green. The stallion huffed and eyed her suspiciously before lowering his hulking frame to the ground, tucking his front legs neatly under his chest. Isabel stroked his neck lovingly and settled on the grass beside him, leaning contentedly against his side. She tucked her legs up and spread her skirt around her so that if someone happened upon her, she wouldn't look indecent. Her mother had taught her that much, at least. Isabel continued stroking the horse's dark brown neck as she closed her eyes and lost herself in the colors and sounds of the forest.

Keeping from you
Keeps me from sleep

It's just this bad beat
That I just can't keep

[/size]

[tigeress]

Usually the stream would suffice to water the horses. The meandering watercourse came close to the stables, but the previous night's rain had shifted silt into the water and the stream was now muddied and unsuitable to drink from. The well always contained clear water, so Conor had rigged up the two grey cobs to the flat-bed wagon and had started off at a brisk pace down the well-travelled road to the well. It would take a while to fill the empty barrels he carried in the back but the smithy had promised to send his youngest son to help.

The pair of draught horses pulled the cart with a willingness that always pleased Conor. The duo were a good match, and he hoped Arnold would let him breed the two sisters to a fine black stallion he had seen on one of his trips to Nottingham. The foals would fetch a good price at the farmers market or maybe even with the nobles for their knights. He knew some knights prefered a heavier horse for games like the joust.

Ad the road started to weave between the trees, the horses barely noticed. They were practically ignorant to every situation, which made them very reliable equines. Conor couldn't remember a time when they'd ever spooked. He urged them both into a trot as the road flattened, and the pair gladly obliged. Conor relaxed to the rhythm of the jingling tack and the rattle of wheels on the road. He would have to remind Arnold that they needed new wheels soon enough, the spokes were starting to stress.

Millie - the left mare -tossed her head, ears perking and nostrils flaring. Conor instantly slowed them and halted the carriage before they came in sight of the well. Millie was a flirt, and her sudden interest indicated there was a stallion ahead. He walked the pair slowly around the corner, spotting the large bay and the girl sat beside him. Halting the pair, he secured the reins to the bar at the front of the carriage to discourage Millie from making a move and hopped down from the driving seat. He looked between the well and the barrels sat in the back of the carriage. It would make more sense to pull the cart right up to the well and fill the barrels while they sat in the cart. Lifting them full of water would take more time and effort and Conor had no intention of wasting either.

Looking a little bashful, the stable-hand approached the girl. He recognised her from Knighton, the merchants daughter. Offering a meek smile, he settled his eyes on the horse to avoid meeting her eyes. The stallion was a magnificent specimen, good form and relaxed in the presence of the girl. The saddle needed some work. It was old and sagging a little in the middle. It was definitely far too large for the girl. "Good morning, ma'am." His voice was a tamed Irish brogue, diluted from a decade of living in the north of England. "I uh...." He tailed off, staring hard at the saddle of the horse, cheeks heating a little.

"His saddle is too big for you. He'll get back trouble." Conor mumbled. It was difficult for Conor to ask a favour. Millie was a darling horse, but with a stallion close she might jog the wagon and upset her sister, Lillie. How did he ask the girl to move her horse away so he could use the well? It was public land, she could refuse. He couldn't be rude, but in worrying about saying anything impolite, he couldn't say much at all.

[xarae]

Vern flicked his ears irritably and and he twisted his head around to look at the duo of mares. Millie didn't hold his interest. Despite being a stallion, whenever Isabel was near, she seemed to calm him. Vern huffed in annoyance eyed the boy wielding the wagon with more hostility than he did the wagon itself. Isabel cracked an eyelid as she felt her faithful companion tense, instantly sitting up straighter when she saw who was talking to her. Good posture had been severely drilled into her skull.

Isabel tilted her head to the side as he called her "ma'am." Did she really look that old? The young girl felt along the loose braid of her hair as he spoke, working at the twine at the edge of her hair until it slipped out of her hair. I uh... With a shake of her head, Isabel loosened her hair and it flared free along her back, settling in waves along her shoulders. Issie ran her hands through it a few times to tame it down, lost in her own nonsensical thoughts until he spoke again.

She snapped her head up, then laughed briefly. "And ride side-saddle through the forest? I'd rather die."

Let him feed that to the gossip mongers.

Isabel straightened her skirts and stood up, soon after followed by Vern, who took a bit more time than his mistress to reach his full, imposing height. He snorted and pawed the ground impatiently. Isabel murmured a few soft words and touched his neck briefly, and the horse relaxed slightly, still eying Conor suspiciously. "And my father would die before he bought me a man's saddle my size."

Isabel turned and calmed Vern more, running her hand in a brief caress along his withers. The stallion snorted and huffed, dropping his head once more and settling back to graze. A cool breeze blew through the trees, tossing a few green leaves down from the boughs. The few that fell seemed to glow with an unearthly light as they passed through the patches of sunlight that showed through the spider-web map of branches above. Isabel strode through the patches of warmth and kneeled by the well, drawing up the bucket carefully and placing it to the left of the well. The girl settled on the stone wall and leaned back slightly, glancing at Conor with a raised eyebrow. "And you would be?"

Despite her apparent self control, she allowed a brief note of lilting excitement to enter her voice. Names always excited her. Isabel truly hoped his wouldn't be a bad one. Such a pretty face didn't deserve the curse of an ugly name. Isabel glanced over at Vern as he stamped his foot louder, finally taking some initiative and trotting gamely over to Conor, snuffling at his blonde hair. Isabel smiled lopsidedly. Vern snorted inquisitively and nudged the boy's shoulder before backing up a step, squealing in a way that only a stallion could.

The girl rolled her eyes, leaning down and cupping two hands in the water. She gathered a delicious mouthful and brought the liquid to her mouth, sipping the water greedily. It was going to be a long, tedious ride home now that she had a full bucket of water to worry about. Isabel was dreading it, so she would stall for as long as possible.

Sleepless nights is where this story started
Blood and tear drops and fears of failing hearts

It was you that took that first step
Ever since you left me breathless

[/size]

[Jon Brooke]

Jon was bored. Amazingly bored. Business was slow, and after the arrest of the Scarlett boy, the outlaw, people had taken to gossiping rather than making orders and remembering that they needed things. His father was off hunting for they’re dinner, Lewis was off doing something else, so Jon had been left to go and fetch the water from the well. A task he loved, oh so very much. It could be worse, he could have to walk further and a hundred odd metres to do it, he could have leaking containers. But he’d made them, therefore they were the best he was gunna get in Nottingham these day, which the Scarlett’s father gone, and the boy outlawed. The other son had disappeared. Not long after he had been found guilty robbing from their mill with his good-for-nothing brother. The reasons just kept piling up why he didn’t like them.

In truth, he was probably just jealous. Jon was good with wood; anybody would tell you that, that Scarlett boy was just… for lack of a different word: better.

As he sauntered down the dirt pathway that led to the well, he looked around him, trees, leaves, greens and browns. Wood. Nothing he had never seen before. He wondered if in the future any of this would still be there. The forest, the village, any of it. Would Nottingham be razed to the ground before too long? Would Robin Hood, outlaw and thief that he was finally give in and kill the Sheriff and the rest of Nottingham with it? The answer to that was probably.

If it didn’t happen now, it would happen sooner rather than later. Richard was unlikely to return home before too long, and Jon doubted that Robin could ‘fight for the poor’ too much longer. Rumours abound, the Holy Land. Talks of a different sort of war. All of it seemed a little too stupid for Jon to even consider. He lived for the now, so if he was going to be dead tomorrow, in the next hour or even the next minute, at least he did it with a smile and a bounce in his step.

He sped up, and launched himself through the over-grown foliage that shielded his path. Then he saw a load of horses and heard talking coming from the direction of the well. People. It wasn’t just any people. It was the strange taste girl, and that new boy living at old Arnold’s place. The Saddle boy. He laughed to himself, he would not hinder his daily business because the strange girl, Isabel her name, he thought, was around. The Saddle boy obviously didn’t know of her – weird – tendencies as of yet.

Well… he soon would, that was for sure.

[tigeress]

The girl was a complete contrast to himself. She seemed outgoing, reminding him of his favourite mare - Willow. She was forever sticking her nose in everything he was doing. The corner of his lip twitched at the mention of her father's objection. Personally Conor didn't see why women couldn't ride like the men if the wanted too. It was probably more comfortable especially seeing as they didn't have certain vulnerable appendages right next the the solid pommel.

He could make her one within a few weeks. He'd need the metal and wooden components made but he had plenty of leather he could work with to start. The stallion was broad-backed, where as the girl was lithe, smaller than most saddles he'd made to date. It would be interesting to work on a smaller scale. Alas, she said her father would never allow it, and fathers were always set in their ways. He could make her one on the sly and she could keep it at the stables, but what would she pay with? He couldn't spend all that time without getting payment. Vegetables would hardly cover the price of a custom-made saddle.

The young man sighed, watching now as the stallion stood up. Conor's lips widened a little in a smile. The bay was a beast! So tall and stocky. A good hunter, he surmised. He was taller than the two cobs, but a cross might make an exciting mixture of the bay's long legs and the cob's steady temperament. He glanced to the girl when she asked for his name, and he bowed his head. "Conor, miss... ma'am... uh." He blushed, looking back to the horse as he boldly approached and inspected him.

Distracted from his guffaw, Conor held out a hand, palm forward for the large horse to sniff at. He reached into his pocket and found some grain. Holding a handful out, he made soft clicking noises with his tongue to charm the stallion closer. He was a feisty one, likely a loyal beast that was wary of strangers. Conor's usual calm personality put most horses at ease, though he imagined this stallion would not be so forthcoming. Still, he was spectacular. He could admire the bay all day long, and currently he was too distracted by the beast to notice the carpenter boy approaching by foot.

[xarae]

Conor. Isabel rolled the name around on her tongue, but refrained from repeating it back to him, as she was often prone to do. It tasted like cinnamon, oddly. The letters glowed with a warm ocher color that almost made her feel safe. Isabel tilted her head to the side, drumming her fingers on the stone. It was a good name. The girl longed to complement him on it, but she was afraid he might laugh, or assume she was crazy just like everyone else. Isabel huffed in annoyance. For all her apparent adventurous qualities, she had long since buried the willingness to tell everyone what their name tasted like.

"Miss Brighten. Isabel, that is. Isabel Brighten," The girl clarified, her words a bit muddled as her thoughts continued to linger on his name. It intrigued her.

Vern snorted, flicking his ears in Isabel's direction every time she spoke. Hearing her voice and seeing her in his peripheral vision made him a bit more calm and less likely to lash out at Conor. He watched him warily as the boy put his hand in his pocket and produced some grain. Isabel smiled slightly, ducking her head and kicking her legs back and forth in a childishly bored manner. "That's nice. You already know the way to a stallion's heart is through his stomach."

Suddenly, Vern swung his head around, glancing suspiciously into the forest. His muzzle smacked lightly into Conor's hand as he did so, knocking some of the grain to the ground. The stallion stamped his hoof, blowing his nostrils nervously. The horse could sense someone there, but he couldn't see who, or what, it was. It was clearly making him nervous. Isabel huffed softly and jumped off the wall. "Most definitely a fox or the like," She murmured, sauntering around her horse, running a soothing hand along his neck. Isabel walked past the horse and boy, peering uncertainly into the branches. After another moment's hesitation, she trod into the thin woods, making as much noise as possible, presumably to scare off any wildlife that was making the stallion nervous.

Of course, it wasn't a fox.

Isabel kept her eyes on the ground, searching the brush for any animals. While she wasn't paying attention, her leather-clad foot caught under a foot, sending her sprawling forward into a certain unsuspecting carpenter. Issie yelped slightly, steadying herself in his arms. She glanced upwards, a light blush rising on her cheeks. "Er... Jonathon, right?"

The taste of fresh baked apple pie sprinkled on her tongue. Isabel bit her tongue to keep from smiling at the delicious flavor of his name and quickly pushed herself back a few steps from the older boy. "Sorry for, uh... Tripping. On you." The younger girl forced a nervous smile, backed up another step, then turned around at the sound of Vern letting out an outraged whinny and the sound of hurried hoof beats. "Uh... Sorry for cutting it short?" Isabel turned on her heel and sprinted back through the trees, bursting back into the clearing where the well was. Vern was currently cantering tight circles around the well, his reins flopping wildly between his front legs. A misstep and he would trip, possibly breaking a leg.

Isabel ran forward, murmuring a few soft words and catching the reins, giving a light tug. Vern snorted and skidded to a halt, unexpectedly dragging Isabel forward. The girl fell to her knees. She huffed in annoyance, then looked over her shoulder. In his fright at hearing her yelp, he must have reared and bolted into the well, knocking over the bucket and...

Isabel closed her eyes, groaning slightly. The bucket was smashed against the wall, broken pieces of wood scattered in a haphazard manner about the clearing. The girl got slowly to her feet, running her hand across Vern's shoulder, seemingly to calm her own clamoring nerves. Her mother would be livid when she got home waterless and bucketless. Just another small failure in her already pathetic life.

Well I'm thinking of worse things
That I could say to you

And this never will be right with me
And you're trying desperately

[/size]

[Jon Brooke]

Isabel Brighten was an oddball. That was for sure. The nervous wreck he saw before him, talking to the Saddle Boy. It was rather cute. Jon smirked to himself, as he saw himself get noticed he approached a little further before. "Most definitely a fox or the like," Jon laughed. A fox? He was a little bit bigger than a fox that was for sure. And he most definitely a night animal of any sort.

When the girl came bounding towards him he laughed. And soon she tripped and landed in his arms, and it was all a bit of a kafuffle. He simply smiled down at her as she fumbled about for his name. She had once told him, on a very odd occasion, that his name tasted of Apple pie… that confused him. He nodded as she uttered his name, ”Isabel,” she propped her back upright, and she ran back to her cantering horse.

Jon never really understood the creatures. They ere big, and could trample you, and wee therefore and a threat ,and we thus very bad. Hoofs hurt, he knew that for nothing, and he didn’t much fancy being on the underside of them when they came thundering down.

So – he avoided them. Simple. Horses were not Jon’s friend. We walked down slightly more towards the well, but with the horse in a rage and him needed water. He didn’t fancy crossing the stallions path. He hasn’t that desperate.

”What’s wrong with him?”

[tigeress]

The way to a stallion's heart is through his stomach: certainly true. The bay had reached out to investigate the grain, but then Conor noticed the signs of a distraction a split second before the animal turned his head to focus on the sound. Conor stuffed the remainder for the grain into his pocket and was reaching for the stallions reins instinctively before he realised the girl was already crossing the distance to calm him. Stepping back, Conor glanced to the bushes where the horse seemed so intense.

A quick look to his own horses proved Millie and Lillie were quite happy browsing from the foliage nearby, unaffected by the sudden tension. Isabel went to scout out the cause of her stallions distress and almost as soon as she was out of sight, the horse wheeled and bolted toward the well. Conor scooted out of the way of the incoming pieces of bucket and watched helplessly as the stallion shied and ran rings around the well. If he were is own horse, he'd easily take care of the situation but he didn't know what Isabel or the horse would think.

"Hush boy, woooah." He started a nonsensical stream of words in a soft voice in an attempt to calm the horse. He couldn't lunge for the reins in fear of scaring the horse and tripping him. Getting closer might also worsen the situation. So Conor settled for trying to calm the stallion with his voice and breathing a sigh of relief as his owner came running back to catch him with no ill-effect. He stepped forward to help her up, but she stood before he could reach her.

Turning at the sound of another voice, he spotted the carpenter. He'd met him a few times. Lighter saddles often used wood to hold up the frame and so he'd met most of the local crafters. Jon's work was good, but apparently not quite as goos as someone who used to live over in Locksley. Jon seemed clueless to the frightened state of the horse, and Conor frowned to himself. What idiot couldn't see wen a horse was spooked?

Huffing, he looked at the scattered remains of the bucket, wishing he had a spare on his person to replace it.

[xarae]

Isabel glanced at Jonathon out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to have grown some since she'd last seen him face-to-face when he'd been working on repairs on their barn last summer. Issie had caught glimpses of him in the market, but had always wondered if it was actually him or not. He seemed older, more mature. Isabel ignored her ponderous thoughts and continued petting Vern.

The stallion huffed and snorted, pawing the ground in annoyance. Isabel looked mournfully at the shattered bucket, but tried to shrug it off. "He's just... nervous. He heard me, er, yelp when I... ah, you know. Tripped. On you." Isabel coughed uncomfortably and continued stroking Vern's neck, trying to ignore the prickling feeling she was getting. She already knew her mother would be absolutely furious with the broken bucket.

Isabel tied Vern's reins to a metal piece protruding from the masonry work. She usually didn't bother with such trivial things, but after seeing him react so out of character, she wanted to be safe. The girl knelt down and began picking up the scattered pieces of wood. Perhaps they could make some use of them. Firewood, perhaps. Isabel gathered the shattered pieces in a small pile, counting eight in all of varying sizes. "Jonathon," Calling him Jon felt too personal for the loose knowledge she had on the older boy, "You're a carpenter - professional opinion, this most likely can't be fixed, correct?" The younger girl said with distaste, toeing the splintered remains of the bucket.

As she said his name, though her question was dismal, she couldn't help but let a flicker of a smile pass over her lips. His name was just... well, scrumptious. Isabel glanced over at Conor, widening her smile slightly. "Thanks for helping out, it's very much appreciated. I don't what's gotten into him - Vern never acts this way," Isabel laughed lightly before gesturing to the still tethered and quickly eating mares. "He must be showing off for the ladies."

Isabel led the stallion around the woodpile and close to the well, where she stepped up carefully onto the stone wall and vaulted onto the stallion's back. Once she was upright, she arranged her skirts as best as she could so as to be ladylike in a man's saddle before gathering her reins and sliding her feet into the stirrups. "Well, seeing as my errand is suspended, do you boys need any help?" Isabel glanced back at the blonde pair, tilting her head to the side inquisitively and nudging Vern forward slightly. The stallion broke into a nervous jog in Jon's direction. Issie reined him in and pulled him up in front of the older boy. Vern extended his nose and sniffed Jon carefully, deciding he liked the wood-smell of the boy. It reminded him of the wood chip bedding in his stall. Vern snorted softly and nuzzle Jonathon's shoulder. Satisfied, Isabel twisted in the saddle, glancing back at Conor. "Those barrels look awful heavy." The girl stroked Vern's withers boredly, her bright blue-green eyes still focusing on the boy whose name tasted of cinnamon.

Check yes Juliet
Are you with me?

Rain is falling down on the sidewalk
I won't go until you come outside

[/size]

[Jon Brooke]

Once the stallion was calm Jon made his approach. She asked him if the splintered, let alone broken, bucket would be saved. The short answer; “No.” The long winded avoiding the truth answer; “Yes, with immense amounts of time and skill, which I have, but it would never be the perfect bucket again, full of holes.”

”What truthfully… or…” he thought about it, he could joke we her, the village freak, or he could be nice. He picked up some of the piece of splintered wood, raised his eyebrow and turned to her, “Not really no. It’s all a little… small. Even I don’t have the power to make that whole again. Not even the Scarlett boy could make that whole again.”[/b] he laughed tossing down the pieces. He had water to collect to he made about lowering the well bucket to collect it.

Isabel had turned her attention back to the Saddle Boy. Horses. Who cared for them, he didn’t need them, and there would have to be hell on earth before he ever rode one. Actually, strike that statement, there would have to be peace on earth before he rode one. Then the thing decided it wanted to sniff him. He jerked his shoulder away from the creature, only to have it followed and butted by the horse.

Horses – he did not like.

Isabel’s smile at him made him feel uneasy, like it was something she knew he didn’t like. As far as her strange illness went he didn’t know, but mind-reading? Only witches were capable he was sure. HE shook his head at the thought, her attention yet again on the Saddle Boy. Somebody had to pay attention to him, and he mustn’t know who she was.

”What’s in those things anyway?” Jon asked making his way, widely, around the horse to the side of Conor’s cart to take a peak. Glancing at Conor he hefted himself up on his hands to take a look.

[tigeress]

Conor gave an understanding nod as Isabel explained the stallion was being abnormally skitty. It was probably the collective sounds of the forested with the combination of two new human males. Some horses were wary of males, probably due to their domineering body language. Females were always less imposing and more attuned to emotions. Conor was clueless with women, but he understood the horses better than most.

Isabel made a comment about the barrels, and Jon followed suit. Conor shrugged a shoulder at the young womens comment about the weight. Conor could carry a full one of water - when he stood next to them they came up to his knee and were as wide as his forearm. "Nothing in them yet. I need water for the troughs, the stream is too dirty today."

Millie turned from grazing and peered at Jon as he peeked into the barrels. The attention was coming back to the draft horses and the pair started looking restless and ready to work. Conor stood in front of them, rubbing their velvet noses and settling them. When it was apparent they were not expected to work quite yet, Millie nickered to the stallion and tossed her head, the bit jingling with the nodding movement and her long white-grey mane fell about her face. Conor huffed and took the reins firmly beneath her mouth. "Sorry." He said to Isabel. "She's nosy."

[xarae]

Isabel snorted as Jon spoke. She hadn't expected him to throw himself at her feet and offer to replace the bucket, but some amount of chivalry instead of the offhand way they both seemed set on treating her would have been preferable. The girl knew was experience that most of the villagers were uncomfortable near her, but just once in a while it was nice to be treated normally. Like she didn't taste names. Isabel drummed her fingers absently on the pommel of the saddle before turning back in her seat. By then Jonathon had jerked away from the horse and was already inquiring after the buckets in the wagon. Isabel nudged Vern forward, turning him until she was facing Conor, her back to Jonathon.

She felt ungainly atop her large horse. When she halted the stallion near either of the boys, their heads only came to about mid-thigh. Isabel pushed down her feelings of awkwardness and urge Vern towards the wagon, halting the horse near the bed of the wagon. Isabel slid her feet out of her stirrups and angled her body towards the wagon before dismounting, landing with a thud in the bed, She steadied herself, clutching at Jon's arm for a moment from where he was levering himself up before standing up straight. Isabel blew out a breath before straightening her skirts (she wasn't a total disappointment to her mother) and sidling between the barrels. They weren't that big, but enough for several horses. He'd probably have to come up numerous times over the next few days in the stream was indeed that muddy.

Isabel sat down by one of the barrels, leaning back against the sturdy wood. Vern snorted softly and backed up from the wagon bed, trotting around the wagon and towards the front, where he gently touched noses with Millie. The stallion whinnied and tossed his head, stepping a bit closer. Isabel sighed in annoyance, waving her hand in a come-hither gesture at her horse. The large bay backed up a step, lowering his head and walking sedately around Millie to the other side of the wagon, closer to Isabel. The young horse hung his head over the edge of the wagon and placed his muzzle in her lap. Isabel laughed lowly, stroking the side of his face. "He's a big softie, really. A puppy in a wolfhound's body, if you will," She said warmly, playing with the horse's velvety muzzle. Vern blew out softly, nuzzling her chest and knocking her back slightly against the barrels.

Isabel laughed, pushing him lightly away. The horse whickered gently before putting his muzzle to the ground and snuffling about for green grass. His mistress turned, eying Jon for a moment. She still couldn't quite believe it was the gangly teen who had worked on their barn last year. He'd grown some, but his hair was still wavy and looked soft to the touch. Isabel's fingers began drumming again on the wood of the wagon bed, a habit she only performed when she was trying to keep herself from doing something impulsive. Like touching his hair.

Isabel averted her eyes and glanced back at Conor, smiling slightly. "I don't mind it. Mares are all the same, usually bad mannered. These two seem nice and sensible though. I do hope you plan on breeding them, they'd make wonderful foals with any of the stallions in the village." She did not necessarily mean Vern, as no one had approached her family to ask for studding. Isabel would love small horses dancing about that were partly Vern's, but she knew her father would most likely object. The girl stood up, placing a palm on the bucket to keep herself from falling over. Isabel walked across the wagon bed, sitting down at the opposite edge and sliding off, landing on the ground near Jonathon. The quiet comforting sounds of horses eating were still prominent in the clearing, putting her mind at ease.

Part of her wanted to volunteer to help fill the barrels, but she knew that was the epitome of "un-lady-like," and would most likely send her mother into cardiac arrest if she ever found it. Which she would. Things had a way of getting around in the small village. So Isabel said nothing, lingering uncertainly by Jonathon, prepared to leave waterless and bucketless unless one of them decided to say something interesting. Isabel was a social girl, despite her socially crippling disorder, but her parents would already be furious with the loss of the bucket. It would make them doubly mad if she came home late and with a pile of wood chips that used to be a bucket.

My best laid plans
Will build and break your heart

With guilty hands
She tears my whole world apart

[/size]

[Jon Brooke]

They were talking about horses. Strange Girl and Saddle Boy seemed to hit it off. He really didn’t know her very well did he. Well truth be told neither did Jon. All he knew is she wasn’t normal. And People always seemed to fear what they didn’t know, running from it at any given opportunity.

Problem was for Jon, was that he was currently stuck between two horse crazed lunatics, and three horses, all of which seemed crazed to him. Oh how he hated the creatures. Four legs, stampy feet. All in all, he wasn’t impressed and they scared him. Now would be the opportune moment to grab his bucket of water and make leave. Back home, back to the safety of the Carpenter’s. It would be good back there. No horses. They hadn’t the money, and Jon had never let his father buy the things.

”Well, it’s been nice talking to you!” he mused as he nearly-jogged to the well, pulling the bucket back to the top and pouring into his own container. He walked a good ten foot wide of the horse. Not chancing a thing. If that thing spooked again, or did it’s weird little horsey dance, he didn’t want to be near it when it’s hooves went outwards. He’d felt that pain before, and he didn’t want it again.

”Maybe another time, when there’s more space and less horses.” he laughed uneasily and made his way up the path trying his hardest not to spill a drop of water on his feet or otherwise. That would mean him having to go back, and refill the bucket, back towards the horses. That would be a bad plan, and one he didn’t want to have to follow through any time soon. Not at least, until the horses were gone.

Saddle Boy and Strange Girl could stay there and be horse-likers together for a long time. But until they left Jon wouldn’t be returning.

(OOC - Sorry its so badly short, but my Jon muse ran away with Annie to Lady Glasin....)

[xarae]

Isabel glanced over at Jon as he sidled past the horses, seemingly very nervous. Odd. Issie watched him retreat, then glanced over at Conor. Issie shrugged and tied Vern to a tree. The horse continued to graze, ignoring his mistress as she stepped back and jogged after Jon.

She caught up with him fairly quickly, tugging on his sleeve. Once she was sure she got his attention, Issie slowed to a walk, keeping pace with the taller boy. "Do you think you could make me another bucket? My mother will be livid once she sees whats left of the other one... I can pay, of course," She murmured, digging around her pocket and producing a few glimmering coins. The younger girl tripped slightly on the uneven path, catching herself on his elbow before she came to a halt. "I know you think I'm odd - crazy, even. But it'd mean an awful lot." Isabel often had a hard time running errands, as most craftsmen would flat out refuse her request, no matter if she offered to pay double, or even triple the price. If word got out that they made orders for the loons and witches of the village, they'd get no business.

Isabel nibbled nervously on her lower lip. "I can also get my father to hire you again, I'm sure, for repairs on our pasture." It was true. The wooden fence was sagging and almost broken down, and they needed more space for Vern and the few sheep they had. Issie glanced back up at Jon, trying to meet his eyes. "Please, sir?"

The word - sir - tasted disgusting on her tongue. Like ash, and it brought about a sickening green color, but Isabel forced down her misgivings, trying her best to be polite. She folded her hands in front of her in a ladylike manner, still looking hopefully up at him. Issie was really quite ready to sell herself out for a new bucket. She knew her mother wouldn't be quite so mad if she told her a new bucket was on the way - paid for my Isabel, not the family. Isabel smiled winningly at Jon, trying her best to look adorable and perfectly normal.

Losing the feeling of feeling unique
Do you know what I mean?

Back to the place where we used to say,
"Man it feels good to feel this way"

[/size]

[tigeress]

As a introvert, Conor resigned from conversing with the two. Isabel seemed kind enough, but Jon was putting out an aura that made him wary. The young man was not interested in the horses and seemed quite willing to avoid the creatures. This confused Conor somewhat, though he had a vague idea about what might cause the man to fear them. His own mother was an example of where the fear was founded, but her death had been an accident. She was an experienced horse-woman, but even a frightened colt could kill you if you were not careful. Horses were easy creatures to understand. Their drives were clearly defined in one aspect of life: survival. If a horse felt threatened, it would run or defend itself. The trick was knowing how to allow the horse to trust you. They liked leadership and if you knew their language, you could make firm friends.

Patting Millie's neck, he led the team and the wagon to the well. The stallion - Vern - seemed to be the sensible sort and was happily browsing while Isabel negotiated a new bucket from the carpenter. Millie had calmed down some and was content to just watch the stallion with the occasional whinny. Grabbing the rope, Conor started the laborious task of filling the five barrels in the wagon. He stood on the edge of the well, carefully and skillfully balanced on the old stone wall as he lowered the well's bucket to the bottom until it filled with water and then pulling it back up. The firm bucket load barely filled the bottom inch or two of the fist barrel.

Conor sighed. This would take a while.