in the parish of space dust

Salvia Eternity · 01-22-2012, 12:12 PM

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The work with the pony was progressing quickly. Salvia had been quick to realize he would not take a rider; he was too small for a Luperci, even one as lithe as herself. Therefore, she had begun working on him in other ways—with her father’s advice, she had fashioned a light rope harness and begun having the pony wear it constantly. While he initially despised the thing, over time, his agitation lessened. She was breaking him slowly, and confident that by spring he would be able to help with lesser tasks; plowing the garden, for example. That would require making a plow, but she was less concerned about that. Someone who understood such concepts could deal with the fine details. Salvia’s purpose was within the horse-care and the animals as a whole.

She had mentioned this to her father, and he had admitted that he would not return to his duties. By behaving more as a trader and spending more and more time with his younger children, Larkspur lost much of the free time he had had. His daughter absorbed his teachings in earnest, and saw that the growing numbers of the contained animals was not enough. While the herd was allowed to run free during, under the careful eye of the mare Siv owned, they were always corralled at dusk and kept inside at night. Black’s absence was noted; she was hopeful her brother would not tarry long with him come spring.

As was usual, given that her own colt was yet too small to ride, Salvia took Misty. She intended to find more of the things her father had mentioned; tools for expanding the barn. It was too cold for digging, but by summer they could begin. With samples in the pouch on her hip and the woven belt around her waist, she rode out from the borders. The girl’s familiarity with the nearby landscape allowed her to avoid Inferni completely, trusting in Misty’s feet to carry them over the slightly rocky terrain. She swung wide, brushing near Anathema’s borders, and noted a black and white crow watching her with sharp intent. This was later dismissed as she turned south and quickened her pace.

She found, surprisingly, that another trail was cut through the snow. It seemed odd to her until she caught the scent of horse-dung and identified it with one of their own. Someone had one of the carts out, it seemed. Of course her missing this was not peculiar; the carts were stored elsewhere, for there was nothing to protect them at the barn. This too, would need altered. If they could construct something to hide the carts it would keep things easier—luckily, the sheep were the easiest of all. Between their free-roaming days they were kept in a corral with a singular lean-to. They did not need more; sheep were less valuable then horses.

After perhaps half an hour or so she finally caught sight of the cart. A golden woman was seated in the back, and Salvia’s eyes widened to the point that the fine black ring around her acidic green was revealed. Tlanti? She had seen neither hide nor hair of the woman since her self-imposed exile (within, of course) and was startled now that she was out. Salvia squeezed her legs and urged Misty into a canter, closing the distance shortly. She gave the mare back her head, slowing to the pace of the cart, and looked to her aunt with puzzled but excited eyes. “Tía buena tarde”. Though she had been taught Spanish young, her pronunciation was still not that of a true native. She enounced various sounds harder than should have been, as she was first versed in German. This showed, especially around these native speakers. Salvia completely ignored Miqui for the moment—he was less important to her, an add-on to Tlanti’s existence.

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