The white-furred girl made a protective move toward her horse, as if paranoid he was going to attack or something. To prevent her from panicking, he broadened his grin and let his movements become a little sloppier, as if his height was too much for him. He wasn’t the tallest luperci, just at the tall end of the average due to his large wolf genes. Most of his weight came from hidden muscle, thick fur, and of course the pudge of belly he’d never been able to get rid of.
Leigha introduced herself after a chuckle, and Ephraim nodded. He dipped his head slightly again. “The name’s Ephraim Fisher,” he said, “or Ephy if you want, I don’t mind.” He smiled at her horse again, deciding from its easy nature with her that it wasn’t one of the Tribe’s. He didn’t recognize the sturdy grey cob, anyway, and so he knew that he wouldn’t have to take the animal back. It filled him with a sense of relief, honestly. Horses could be damn stubborn animals depending on their personalities, especially ungelded stallions.
Though geldings could pack a punch, too. Ephraim was a prime example.
“What’s your horse’s name?” he asked, before sniffing the air more carefully. Now that he was paying attention, he could smell a familiar pack odor on her and the horse. His grin broadened—though this time genuine rather than a silly act. “You’re from d’Arte!” he exclaimed, not giving her time to answer the earlier question. “Do you know a Sky Rhiannon there?”
He glanced at the horse as it spoke to the wolf; apparently she knew enough low speech to communicate with it. Wanting to keep prey strictly from companionship, Ephraim had never bothered to learn the skill. His ears turned forward as the girl burst into laughter, hanging onto her horse in a half-hug, half-support while telling him what Archie had said.
“Is he a king?!” Ephraim asked, brown eyes widening. “Well, well—what’s his place in the herd?” He grinned. “I am but a lowly court jester.”
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