The trip to Freetown had been long, but worthwhile. Larkspur had been busy with his own new arrival. He had managed to secure a new breed in exchange for the creme, a fast gray mare that was an easy ride—Itachi had managed to handle her on their route home, after all. She had quickly been taken in by Black, which had made integrating her with the herd easy. With only one other male, the conflicts between horses were few. Salvia’s little colt was growing rapidly, though she would not be able to ride him until the summer after next. However, she was learning with Misty, and with her aunt’s help.

His new horse, given her temperament, was going to be an easy pack animal. Larkspur was currently cleaning her up, for the ride had been long and his ability to do so on the trail non-existent. Sirius had yet to be presented with the new horse and the Arbiter wanted to ensure his Boss was happy with the selection. Rowan had been summoned to help with this task, though her duties were hardly labor intensive. She was perched on the fence, combing out the mare’s pale mane. Larkspur had scrubbed the horse down and now that she was dry, he was intently rubbing her down with the new tools brought back from the city. The combs were excellent for cleaning out the short hair of the horse, and this pleased him greatly.

In the large paddock, the other horses grazed. His own mount, Black, and the gelding were gone. This told him that his children and their cousin had gone riding—he was pleased that Odessa had found a place within the pack. She was damned the same way he had been, and this was perhaps why he felt such sympathy for the girl. A snort distracted him and he turned. Rowan sighed and looked to him apologetically, but he offered her a faint smile and she returned to her work. Larkspur, too, continued cleaning off the new mare.

There had been gain and loss on the trip, but no fault of it was Larkspur’s. He had been sent to gather horses alone, and so he had—the slaves were Itachi’s responsibility. The horse the Protégé had chosen was left alone, for while the animal was rubbed down as the others, it was not meant for Sirius. This one, she would be useful. While the vague idea remained with Larkspur, he was slowly realizing what it would take to form the creature that Sirius so desired. Speed, hardiness, and that just-so color.

He did not hear the woman approach, though Rowan did. She kept her gaze low and continued on her task, though she signaled only seconds before the coyote spoke. Larkspur lifted his head and took a step away from the animal. Initially, he believed she was talking about the horse. It was only as his eyes followed her gaze did she realize what it was the Crone meant. He snorted bullishly. “I do what I please with what is mine,” he said dismissively, knowing that Tlanti, like Eris, was from a different world than he. “Y’think I’d be better off doin’ this myself?” There was the faintest challenge there, for while he and Tlanti had come to some understanding, he still did not think she considered him more than a laborer.

There was little denying that Larkspur favored his red slave over the others, but he had never been breached on the subject. She was submissive and attentive to him, and this was all that mattered. He did not need to strike her, for a raised voice or a certain tone would bring about the same effect. Rowan was peculiar; she did not hate this master, and had grown fond of him in the weeks since her capture. It was better than what the trader would have wanted with her—no one dared touch the Arbiter’s property.

The black wolf did not take her words as another man might, and remained impassive. He was made for labor and for battle, but instead he tended to animals. His size alone meant they broke without much effort. Salvia’s colt, while fond of the girl, managed to remain headstrong when it came to her father. When he was old enough to ride, Larkspur would break him as he had begun doing with the AniWaya horse.

Now, though, his focus would be on the smaller things that needed to occur. He blinked at the collection of things, and upon realizing what they were, recognized that this was not simply a trinket as the things Eris had given him. This was made with power in it, for the Crone was magic, and she had used the feathers of the can tah beast around his neck. He dropped the comb to the ground, advancing quietly to take the fragile thing from her. Orange eyes widened, pupils growing to suck in the magic that certainly resided in this object.

“Thank you,” he said, not knowing what better words to use. Awkwardly, he tried to turn the object about and make sense of where it was supposed to be worn.

It took him several attempts before he reasoned out that the collection of things was meant to be a necklace. Fragile and sacred as it was, Larkspur was ginger about placing it around his broad head. He found that the construction, even if it was not as pretty as some of the work others could do, felt powerful. She had made him something while invoking both his shadow-god and her own sun-god. There was an essence of them both within, he reasoned, and thus this was an object to be used when magic was needed.

White-speckled hand rose and touched the feathers gingerly. His ears twitched as they listened to that unspoken voice and knew his belief was correct—she had infused magic within the feathers and beads and trappings of this object. “No, perhaps not…your snake,” he said, finally bold enough to mention it. “That is one of Tak’s animals. He speaks through the eagle, the snake, and the spider.” These power-animals were universal, it seemed—cross-cultural ideas of what it was to know might in another form, to know animals that were powerful and to be respected.

The thought suddenly recalled the basket perched in the barn. “Wait here,” he said, perhaps more sharply than he intended. Quickly he turned and strode into the building, glad that it was empty except for the frightened deer in the final stall. Larkspur had been told explicitly by Sirius what to find for the Crone, though he was nervous about keeping it around the horses. Thankfully, she was here now—it had only rested within the barn for a few hours. He picked the woven basked up gingerly, as if what was inside might be able to strike through the reeds.

With great care, he advanced towards the witch-woman and presented her the basket with little flourish. “Sirius asked that we bring back a gift for you,” he explained, for the idea was the Boss’ alone.