Western Moors - Pathfinder
“Wish I could do,” Buidhe said in a wistful tone.
“Mmhmph?” Dawn looked up from his efforts to clean his left foreleg with a small bunch of heather held between his teeth while sitting in the middle of the narrow stream much like a cat would when grooming itself. The difference was, of course, that even a cat wasn't able to bend its legs in almost every direction to make the process as quick and convenient as possible. They both didn't like cold water though, but here Dawn also had the advantage over a feline by being able to swear.
“I need much more time, cleaning. Do only when real dirty.”
Dawn spat out the piece of shrubbery and worked his mouth and tongue for a few moments to clear out the remaining pieces of stiff leaves and stalks. “Oh, of course. Guess there are benefits being me,” he said with a lopsided smile that fell away a moment later when he added “Some, at least.” He bent down and picked up a triangular stone with his mouth, snorted away the water, and placed it between his right hoof and fetlock, gripping it with ease.
Buidhe irritatedly shook her head. “Please stop now?”
He looked up from the delicate task of using the tip of the stone to clean the small grooves around the frog, on the underside of his left hoof, where he'd just dislodged a little piece of gravel and some hard packed grime. “What, cleaning?”
“Sulking.”
“And what's it to you?!” he snapped, glaring at the orange mare whose ears splayed back instantly.
“You told me some. Not...,” she groped for words, “Not all is bad. Con... trate(?) on the good.”
“That sentence doesn't make one bit of sense,” he grumbled. “And it's none of your-”
He broke off when she whinnied at him, loudly. A real whinny that made his ears ring.
“Look, I...,” She began after clearing her throat, followed by an annoyed “Uh...” He was just about to comment on her primitive way of getting attention when she angrily stomped a hoof and switched to her own language. “[I'm trying! I do not hear you doing the same!]
“Well I can't! I get it, you're better at English than I'm at Whinny. And I'm not 'sulking'.”
“[You act like a foal scolded by his mother and I am tired of seeing a stallion doing that. And you are prancing around the real reason you were out where I found you. Yes, found, not met, I remind you. Nothing you have told me should be a reason for that. And if you do not practice my language you will not learn my language. Simple. You said you wanted to.]”
“I only got half of that! Too fast!” he complained. “What are you doing out here anyway?”
She got up and trotted over to him, lowered her head and unceremoniously pushed him over so that he fell backwards into the shallow rock pool behind him with a startled yelp. She wrinkled her muzzle.
He came up from the cold water in an instant, spluttering. “What was that for?! This is bloody freezing you-,” he shouted but caught himself. Just.
“Savage?” she deadpanned.
“Uh...”
“Not patient savage,” she confirmed, nodding. “[Now finish up. It is late. I want to rest and you still smell.]” With that, she turned and headed for the farmhouse, head held high.
“Mother Baah's steaming dung heap,” he grumbled before he grit his teeth and proceeded to roll around in the awful natural bathtub.
***
What he disliked about grazing, apart from having to navigate around the occasional stone, snail or worse (or really regret one's carelessness), was the impossibility of having a conversation during the 'meal'. For one you'd constantly have half chewed grass fall out of your mouth and second you'd never get sated in anything approaching a reasonable time. The stuff was bland and not exactly filling and what you really shouldn't do while eating it was thinking about fresh bread. Since you couldn't talk while grazing, your brain would inevitably find a way to do just that.
He still considered that one of the very best things father had taught some of the herd many decades ago. You couldn't do much with peat fires but to drive off the damp and some of the chill in the winter months, but if you only used the really dry and really good quality stock you could do some baking. He'd always loved the flatbread mother and many other mares spent two whole days making in the communal earthen hearth once a month.
With a sigh he looked down at the grass in front of his hooves again, circumvented a beetle and took another bite. He grimaced. At least there still was some grass around the farm's remnants and it hadn't all been swallowed by the encroaching heathland again, so there was something to have for breakfast. It wasn't exactly like their sweet summer meadows they got their hay from; not at all in fact. He thought of fresh bread.
Buidhe definitively didn't have the same problems, judging by her efficiency. She even picked out single species of grass or flowers that she seemed to find especially appealing, ate them selectively, smiled contentedly every now and then, and then quickly finished the rest of the patch she was at minus anything even remotely unpalatable.
He sat down on his haunches, rubbed the tip of a hoof down his forehead, and spat out the last mouthful that had contained something unpleasantly acidic that he hadn't spotted. Deciding he was full enough, he settled for watching Buidhe, who managed to look graceful even with her muzzle down between some weeds and seemed to be enjoying herself. He sighed.
One of the very few times he had seen father close to tears had been that one winter during his foalhood where their food had ran out five weeks before there was any chance of harvesting anything again. Spring was late that year and the time had stretched to almost two months.
After he'd seen that mixture of loathing and despair in father's eyes on the first day they had to go out to their last resort pastures, with the wet and dirty grass that had been covered by snow the whole winter, little Dawn had always given him his share of the better food when supplies ran low. Mother hadn't been happy about it but never tried to change it either.
Mother... He'd told his companion most of what had transpired the day before and what had led up to that particular disaster in a row of smaller ones. “Then I had... a very bad fallout with mother.” No specifics on that, that was no one's business but his own and mother's.
“[How come that you are still their leader then? One of your elder brothers should have already taken over when you are so weak.]”
Blunt and to the point, that seemed to be her approach to everything. That was more or less what he had thought over most of the last decade, but hearing it spoken out loud still came as shock. The tears had almost come back at that point, he'd fought them and won this time though. Maybe because it would have been unbearable to be even more pathetic than he already felt in front of someone like Buidhe. He had the feeling she'd sensed it anyway, the way she quickly had taken her gaze off of him and busied herself with making her 'bedding' more comfortable.
“Mainly because of these,” he'd said and shrugged his wings when he had composed himself again. “Father had them and he never fought anyone as far as I know. I guess they all started following him because he stood out from everyone and knew so much that their chieftain looked stupid.” A pause. Then “Like Harvest,” he'd almost spat.
She'd smiled a little at that. “Tell me.”
He'd realized at that point that no one had actually ever asked him about this. He was Scapa's designated heir, he'd know everything anyway, like it was related to genetics and not study. He'd spaced out long enough that Buidhe had prodded him with a hoof. He knew about genetics. Genetics. Who on earth knew about something like that? Most likely he was the only one alive who did. But why would father...? Something had clicked at that point.
“Your mouth is open,” she'd commented and brought him back to the real world. “What is it?”
“[Nothing!]” he'd blurted out in Whinny and quickly added “[Like, uh, your language. Me knows, no other. Uh. Solstice, some. I mean – tribals do but have not many words in English.]”
She'd cocked her head sceptically but had looked increasingly impressed when he'd found some confidence and begun to rattle off a long list of topics in no particular order, including father's big dream and all the information about it that he'd soaked up already in his colthood. Then he'd talked about what he'd already accomplished with all that knowledge. And it had felt good. In the end it had felt like bragging, but being able to do that was oh so sweet. No one had ever given him the opportunity before.
When he'd finally finished she hadn't said a word for long enough that he'd begun to feel uncomfortable, fidgeting in place and wondering if he'd just alienated her.
“You should lead,” she'd finally stated in a solemn tone that sounded strange, coming from her. “But breakfast first”, she'd added in that same tone, although she hadn't been able to hide the grin for long.
***
Buidhe cantered up to him, licking her lips and obviously in high spirits. “Spicy! Do not have much of this at home! Very nice.”
“If you say so,” he muttered with a lopsided smile. “Meet up with me in two months and I'll spoil you with fresh carrots.”
“Happy to!” She switched to Whinny then and said in a little more serious voice “[I promised to tell you why I was out here.]”
His ears perked up as he looked at her attentively. “[Just speak slow please.]”
She nodded. “[I will try to remember. I guess I am what they call a 'wanderer'. I do not know why, but my herd does not feel much like home anymore. I have... itchy hooves?]” She grinned when he chuckled. “[Uncle is not happy about it. Not at all. But he knows that forbidding it will not help. So he calls me his 'scout'.]”
“A scout? You have scouts? What for? Your uncle has scouts? Who is he?”
“Chieftain.”
He stared at her.
She shrugged dismissively.
“[There are tales of a long time ago where there were many wild dogs on our islands and there was a need to find the safest places, routes and shelters before bringing in the mares and foals. Long before my time.]” She had a contemplating look on her face. “[I figured I need to report something every now and then so he won't lose face... so I'm scouting out you!]” She pointed a hoof at him with a grin. “[And your herd of course,]” she added as an afterthought. “[And your meadows are tasty.]”
“So it was you who ate all the meadowsweet in that corner of the meadow we wanted to cut hay on the next day?!” He snorted and added “I'll have to apologize to those three foals then. Thank you for the coming humiliation.”
“Sorry.” She pawed the ground with a hoof in slight embarrassment.
He looked at her and how she was squirming before him. Then he threw his head back and laughed, laughed until he clutched his chest with both forelegs and had tears in his eyes.
“What is so funny!?” she demanded.
“I... oh Sun and Moon! I don't know!” he slumped onto his side and gasped for air. “Sorry,” he managed between giggles and snorts, “I don't know. This is priceless.” After another few moments he sighed contentedly. “Don't ask. I think I needed that. Thank you.”
“Hmph!”
“So...,” he addressed her again while rolling onto his back, “Basically, you spotted me while stealing our food and decided to run after me just because you needed a story when you got home?” He waggled his legs and kicked the air with all four hooves, making bits of dirt rain down around them ,one of which hit Buidhe on her muzzle. “Beautiful. I'd expected something real serious. The Mystery of The Ronaldsay Mare In The Far West. And her sweet tooth.” He snorted and started laughing again.
“HMPH!”
“Guess I should make sure we always leave some of the stuff out there.” He grinned. “But thank you – no, seriously this time. You're the best that's happened to me in a long while.” He rubbed his back against the rough ground with a happy expression before rolling over and pushing himself up on his hooves again. He shook off some grass and dirt before glancing back and looking himself over. “And I need a bath again it would seem.” He grimaced.
It was her turn to grin.
She walked over to him and nudged him on his shoulder with her forehead, almost making him lose his balance, then proceeded to lay her chin on the part of his maneline that wasn't still sore from when she'd dragged him away from the cliffs by holding onto it. He froze. She rubbed her head along his neck twice and took a little step back, smiling at her companion who now stood with wide eyes, not daring to move. She sniffed.
“You do,” she said with a smile. She looked at him. “Friends?” her voice suddenly sounded very serious.
“Uhm... uh, w... what?” he stammered, “Ah... yes, I mean, yes of course!” He took a deep and slightly shaky breath. “Friends,” he said with a smile that withered a moment later when he noticed her dejected look. He blinked twice, hesitated, then mouthed a silent 'Oh' and blushed.
Her ears perked up as he closed the little distance between them and carefully touched her shoulder with his brow, inadvertently taking in her scent as he did so. It was earthy, in a way that reminded him of how the air smelled after a heavy shower, mixed with sweet and salty notes of musk and sweat that never became stale on a mare who never spent time indoors. He swallowed, hard.
Reluctantly he raised his head again and for the first time really noticed how much taller she was compared to him. He hesitated and bit his lip for a second as he looked at her withers on his eye height. Then he consciously thought about his father for a tiny moment. It killed the hesitation instantly.
He reared up a little on his hindlegs, just enough to reach, and did his best to ignore the sting in his left wing joint when his wings flared out to help keep his balance. The feathers rested against her chest and barrel as he laid his head on her neck and rubbed up and down twice, mimicking her actions from before and hoping for the best.
When he dropped to his four hooves again, slightly breathless, he noticed that she was looking in wonder at his still extended wings. He shook his head with a sad smile and folded up again.
“Can't fly,” he casually commented and then wondered how it could be that the statement was neither awkward nor hurt, or that it came over his lips so easily in the first place.
“I cannot learn it,” she stated with a wry smile. “They are beautiful.”
“Thanks... lots of work though, keeping them that way.” He shrugged. “Anyway; Friends?”
“Càirdean,” she replied with that smooth chuckle of hers.
He held out a hoof to her and smiled.
“Càirdean?” he asked. When she looked at him in confusion he added “Bump!”
She hesitatingly lifted a forehoof and bumped it against his own.
“Friends,” she stated, a little hesitatingly. “That... is it?”
“Yeah, that's it,” he replied in amusement. “That's how we do it. Really simple.” After a little pause he added in a more contemplative tone: “Doesn't feel like much, does it?”
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Interesting that Buidhe seems to have picked up some Scots Gaelic (and been given a name in it) as well as English and the tribal language.
I wonder if there was another survivor that Scapa never met that taught her or her tribe?
I really like Buidhe. She has a good head on her shoulders, and she seems pretty wise, even if she doesn't have Dawn's book (umm... loose sheets?) smarts. And she seems to be good for Dawn. The kind of support he needs.
The little snips of
worldisland building are good too. The packs of feral dogs (wonder what happened to them since...) the limited resources and the work arounds with the peat fires, the cultural development with the communal baking. It's neat stuff. Future anthropologists (umm... hippopologists? No, no... anthropology can still work as a term) would have fun tracking the development of the different societies centered around the colonies.And I can't tell if Dawn is innocently flirting with her or not. It could just be me, since I also 'noticed' a few innuendos. I kept them out of the 'sins' though.
Maybe I should rename this Reading Pins, since it's stuff I'm just poking at.
EVERYTHING WRONG WITH Northland; Western Moors: Pathfinder IN 300 WORDS OR LESS.
SPOILERS.
(OBVIOUSLY)
Heather Loofah *ding* 1
Also, discount Irish Spring *ding* 2
Privelaged child is upset with what his privelage gets him *ding* 3
You're not wrong *ding* 4
If this were France, Portagal or Spain, that would be the appetizer. *ding* 5
Shame, Dawn. Your mom taught you not to talk with your mouth full. *ding* 6
Potential love interest has previously unmentioned connections in neighouring political structure *ding* 7
Watch all that hard work in the Discount Bathtub go down the drain... Er... you know what I mean *ding* 8
Ship Baiting *ding* 9
Not sure if coming on to, friend zoning or teasing... all of the above? *ding* 10
===========
Sin Total: 10
Sentence: Apologizing to foals
So, just back from a family gathering that filled the whole weekend... and I had an unsettling experience. Phone broken and wireless out. Huh. HELPOMGCIVILIZATIONJUSTENDED!!!
Actually, it was kinda nice. Quiet. Should do more often.
Nobody turned into a small horse though.
6371713 Thanks so much for the praise, it means so much! After writing the prologue I almost regretted my plans of not just continuing there. Almost. Scapa still has a prominent role though, even if not in person.
6369904
I love to write her. A side character who waltzed in an messed up the whole plot.
Heh.
I put a lot of time into building the little island. I think you can use much more detail in this setting since it's so self-limiting.
Author happy 'cause done his job right.
Ding 1,2,5,8
9,10? Heh.
Ding 7 (Mane Effect? Sorry, weird brain is weird). Anyway, that ding was intentional. I went into it with both eyes open! Because I love this.
6368429 Was wondering when someone would mention it :)
First of all , I love the sound of it and it fit really well.
Hmm.......
***
This story is only outlined in some detail so far, not actually written yet. So the author might still incorporate ideas or opinions. In fact, it's already happened once.