when the cowboy's away...

Wayne McCoy · 02-17-2012, 03:03 PM

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Powerplayed them walkin' to the pen, I hope that's okay.

Also Wayne has the worst gaydar ever. / +3

The redhead proclaimed that he already knew how to ride, and a brow arched as Wayne glanced over at him disbelievingly. Even his clarification made no sense to the oblivious male, who only snorted at him and walked over to the horses. A hand grabbed at the light bay’s reins, pulling him a couple of steps until Buckeye paid him adequate attention. Behind her herdmate, Tupelo looked innocent, though there was an energy to her body that belied that. Though he still believed that the encounter was a nonviolent misunderstanding, the cowboy supposed he should put more stock in what Sebastian had claimed.

Silent, he checked the rope between the equines once more then glanced back over his shoulder at the lithe red wolf. Hearing the “maybe” he allowed a kind smile to overcome the gruff indifference on his squared-off visage before laughing at Seb’s conditions. No, I reckon I’ve got a better one ’n that—huge but very gentle. He gestured for the Italian to follow him as he walked toward the corral, the pace slow on foot.

Riding lessons would soon become another one of his duties, he supposed. Fern was the big horse he was thinking of now, due to her sweet temperament and a size that meant most of the pack would be able to ride her, perhaps even the huge Sole. In time, unless he was given to another pack, Bark could grow and pair off with a young luperci in need of their first riding steed. It was something else he had to do, another reason to work with his pack mates, and an ideal shaping in his mind. But he still had to remind himself that this was Casa di Cavalieri and not some ranch.

The group finally reached the makeshift ring. Swinging the gate open, Wayne slapped Tupelo’s rear and sent her galloping in with the others, kicking playfully. He held onto Buckeye before the stallion could do the same, working to remove the tack, setting the saddle and bridle down onto the fence though it was temporary; he knew all too well that a bored horse would see them as something to mess with.

He let out a yip then, tailored to the horse he wanted to call, and Fern trotted up to him and the Italian with a swish of her flaxen tail. Smiling, Wayne turned to Sebastian and gestured to the large creature. This is Fern, the girl I was talkin’ about.

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