"It's good to have some fire in them," Noss commented as he dismounted, as was proper, once Ezra himself was upright. "Actually, Alder set me up. This is Taima," he said as he patted the brown draft horse on the side. "And he's a right calmer than her, I'd say." Which was true enough; Taima didn't spook at much of anything and was fairly well-tempered. The only time Noss had gotten a nip was when he had bounced too hard on the horse's back after a particularly large jump. With an open hand Noss invited Ezra to pet and inspect the draft horse, feeling a small pride in his easy time with its temperament.
"You'll get her calm soon, I have no doubts. You just gotta...show her who's boss." The concept was much the same in a pack; the strong ruled the weak, the cunning the dumb, and the wise the short-sighted. Whatever method Ezra chose to rule his own horse would be his own, and Noss stood by his words that it would come in time. Surely, if it did not, then the union was not meant to be. A horse and its rider must be as one, but Noss doubted that Ezra would choose--or that Alder would assign--a horse not even remotely compatible with the begging rider. A thought struck Noss then--a bit of a typical one, he'd say, but not unheard of. "What're you doing later, Ezra? If you haven't any plans, would you join me for a drink?" Now, when Noss said 'drink', he did not mean wine, such as the stuff that Strelein liked to drink--he meant the whiskey and scotch and the thing called 'beer'. While he did not approve of outright, overly-baked drunkenness, a drink every now and then was not to be frowned upon. Certainly he wouldn't have put up with Strelein if the redheaded man did that often at all--or at the very least would've hidden all the alcohol. As it was, the tailor had actually gotten Noss more into the habit of an enjoyable liquor, although he was starting to find the more fiery ones to his liking. The question begged; did Ezra drink, too?
Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.
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