Post by Alianora Mhyre Calvey on Jun 30, 2007 13:48:46 GMT -6
It was the middle of the night, marking the barrier between the second and third day of the Midwinter Festival, the time being around two or three in the morning. The moon glowed just enough to see by, but not nearly enough to illuminate everything clear as day, so although the weather was freezing [literally], Alia decided to take advantage of her chance to exercise her horse. The sturdy white stallion was mostly of Andalusian blood, but there was a bit of Shire, Percheron, and light riding horse in there, as well, consisting of Dutch Warmblood and Arabian. But, those were merely pint sized bits in him, for nearly all of the blood in his veins was Spanish; Andalusian, to be exact.
Alia grabbed the bundle of clothes she kept hidden behind a barrel in the main part of their tiny house, making sure to remain silent while her brothers and mother all slept soundly above her head. Already dressed, but in a dress as usual, she stripped down to the thin woven pants she wore under her dress in cold weather, putting on another similar pair of trousers over them, before putting on loose trews of coarse weave of dark brown, pulling on her boots, and stuffing them with rags. With a large, long strip of cloth, she bound her chest in an effort to not appear distinctly female, before pulling a couple of thin, linen shirts on, the sleeves nice and long, the colours light and mild. Over those went another, slightly thicker tunic, and a leather jerkin vest over that. A thin, suede sort of coat of black went over that, its hood covering her hair, though she'd pulled it back from her face, tied at the nape of her neck. She pulled a pair of knitted sort of gloves over her hands, though most of the length on her fingers was missing, so that she could handle the reins directly, leather against her skin.
She was ready.
She fastened the small toggles on the front of the coat, and slipped outside, creeping by several houses on her way towards the forest. Once free of the village buildings, she broke into a jog, the pace warming her up, her breath making clouds in the air while her boots made almost silent crunching sounds on the frost underfoot.
The tall grasses blanketed in frost bristled past her calves, though there was nothing she could do about the trail she'd made, heading for the forest. Once under the cover of the tall, bordering trees, she followed a faint, familiar path that only she and Eamonn could recognize, following familiar steps for several minutes until she could no longer see the village lights through the towering tree trunks. Raising two fingers to her lips, she whistled softly, and a nicker replied half heartedly, as if tired from waiting for her. She hurried over to the horse, where he stood in a simple, makeshift paddock, with a lean-to of sturdy mud, wood, and branches providing a shelter, a cozy blanket secured under his belly and in front of his chest. He bobbed his head eagerly, clearly glad to see her, his white head looking almost ghostly in the dim, night atmosphere. She untied the blanket and pulled it off of him in one motion, his coat looking as if it glowed. Not the best colour for secret night rides, but she wouldn't trade him for the world. A well crafted, large wooden chest held the saddle and bridle, hidden by brush and the like, and she opened it quickly, running a brush or two over his spotless body and picking out his hooves using a thin metal rod, a bit longer than her hand, with one end curved slightly, the tip flattened partially, and sharpened a bit. Then came the saddle and blanket, with she threw over his back before fastening the girth. After buckling the bridle straps while he chomping noisily on the bit, she tightened the girth, and grabbed the split reins nearest her, pulling herself up on the saddle by stepping up with the stirrup, adjusting the reins in her hands before touching her heels to his sides for him to walk.
They did this for a while, warming his muscles to the movement while Alia grinned from ear to ear with pleasure from being on his back, for she hadn't ridden him in days, as much as it pained her. She then eased him into a trot, and a canter after that. Fallen trunks didn't stand a chance; her mount would launch himself into the air, feet tucked neatly as he cleared them with ease. She managed to calm her excitement, in case anyone saw her and thought her to be a complete idiot on a stolen horse, but she could not lessen the thumping of her heart, though it gradually slowed after a while. They wove through trees, jumped logs, and even waded through a tiny brook, the water only covering the horse's hooves as they crunched on rounded pebbles. Taking a bold step, she directed him towards the fields, and they fairly flew through them, quiet sleeping crops on all sides as they passed through. Out of the fields, now, past the main mill, the smithy, like a dark rider on a ghost horse.
Alia grabbed the bundle of clothes she kept hidden behind a barrel in the main part of their tiny house, making sure to remain silent while her brothers and mother all slept soundly above her head. Already dressed, but in a dress as usual, she stripped down to the thin woven pants she wore under her dress in cold weather, putting on another similar pair of trousers over them, before putting on loose trews of coarse weave of dark brown, pulling on her boots, and stuffing them with rags. With a large, long strip of cloth, she bound her chest in an effort to not appear distinctly female, before pulling a couple of thin, linen shirts on, the sleeves nice and long, the colours light and mild. Over those went another, slightly thicker tunic, and a leather jerkin vest over that. A thin, suede sort of coat of black went over that, its hood covering her hair, though she'd pulled it back from her face, tied at the nape of her neck. She pulled a pair of knitted sort of gloves over her hands, though most of the length on her fingers was missing, so that she could handle the reins directly, leather against her skin.
She was ready.
She fastened the small toggles on the front of the coat, and slipped outside, creeping by several houses on her way towards the forest. Once free of the village buildings, she broke into a jog, the pace warming her up, her breath making clouds in the air while her boots made almost silent crunching sounds on the frost underfoot.
The tall grasses blanketed in frost bristled past her calves, though there was nothing she could do about the trail she'd made, heading for the forest. Once under the cover of the tall, bordering trees, she followed a faint, familiar path that only she and Eamonn could recognize, following familiar steps for several minutes until she could no longer see the village lights through the towering tree trunks. Raising two fingers to her lips, she whistled softly, and a nicker replied half heartedly, as if tired from waiting for her. She hurried over to the horse, where he stood in a simple, makeshift paddock, with a lean-to of sturdy mud, wood, and branches providing a shelter, a cozy blanket secured under his belly and in front of his chest. He bobbed his head eagerly, clearly glad to see her, his white head looking almost ghostly in the dim, night atmosphere. She untied the blanket and pulled it off of him in one motion, his coat looking as if it glowed. Not the best colour for secret night rides, but she wouldn't trade him for the world. A well crafted, large wooden chest held the saddle and bridle, hidden by brush and the like, and she opened it quickly, running a brush or two over his spotless body and picking out his hooves using a thin metal rod, a bit longer than her hand, with one end curved slightly, the tip flattened partially, and sharpened a bit. Then came the saddle and blanket, with she threw over his back before fastening the girth. After buckling the bridle straps while he chomping noisily on the bit, she tightened the girth, and grabbed the split reins nearest her, pulling herself up on the saddle by stepping up with the stirrup, adjusting the reins in her hands before touching her heels to his sides for him to walk.
They did this for a while, warming his muscles to the movement while Alia grinned from ear to ear with pleasure from being on his back, for she hadn't ridden him in days, as much as it pained her. She then eased him into a trot, and a canter after that. Fallen trunks didn't stand a chance; her mount would launch himself into the air, feet tucked neatly as he cleared them with ease. She managed to calm her excitement, in case anyone saw her and thought her to be a complete idiot on a stolen horse, but she could not lessen the thumping of her heart, though it gradually slowed after a while. They wove through trees, jumped logs, and even waded through a tiny brook, the water only covering the horse's hooves as they crunched on rounded pebbles. Taking a bold step, she directed him towards the fields, and they fairly flew through them, quiet sleeping crops on all sides as they passed through. Out of the fields, now, past the main mill, the smithy, like a dark rider on a ghost horse.