This was home now, that was certain. It had felt like he had been alone for ages, and yet it had been less then a year. Now, this pack of dogs and mismatched canines were his family, and their lands of scattered coasts, cabins, sparse forests and towering cliffs were his home. The stables, as aged and weathered they might be, had become his house and the tenants of the stalls his wards. The roan mare needed care, and while he worked on her and her needs the male cleaned and worked with the rest. All their names weren’t known, but Heath learned them slowly and found other things to call them. His loft was sparse, but comfortable and he was sure that he and his things always smelled of horse and straw.
The thin tawny male roamed the surrounding landscapes of the farm, his constant (it seemed) companion grazed in the grasses beyond the fences. The weather had been wet, so much so that hauling water was no longer a daily task. Rain water was now just as fresh and more convenient. When the sun sat high in the clouded and dreary sky Heath found that he had little left for chores. Though the weather was not as he remembered his first summer, bright and sunny, at the moment the rains were no longer torrential. A long whistle called to Lummeire and he further away from the stables, thinking of a midday meal.