[/html]The cat was crying, meowing at him as he returned to the stable doors. He had been listening to it even as he neared the building. At first he had been concerned, and rushed until he could see what was causing all the commotion. The white and orange cat rubbed against his black foot-paws, purring and cooing in his feline way. Blue eyes looked down at the black rodent that had met its demise. For a moment Alder didn’t know what to do with it, but the small cat’s actions caused him to crouch and pet it on the head and give a small bit of praise.
He opened and walked through the door unsure if the death that met him was a bad omen. But nothing seemed to be amiss. Alder let a big sigh roll through his shoulders, and walked towards Hawthorn’s stall. The giant Shire horse was happy to see him as always, and eager to follow the Marshall out onto the racetrack. The wolf saddled him, added the rest of the tack he needed. Alder had been trying to remain in the pack lands as much as he could and thus he hadn’t been riding as often. Where Alder had been riding ‘Thorn every day or two, for long distances at that, he felt that his travels had slowed to where he needed to keep up the horses training.
A black hand patted his neck, and he mounted the horse swiftly and took to the racetrack. He noticed Hickory seated on a fence post, licking his paw as cat’s so oddly did. Alder didn’t need to ask or give much of a request to the horse, who wished to stretch his legs, and together they began with a slow trot. Alder let his eyes close for a moment, simply feeling the movement and trusting his friend to guide him around the track.