Fields of Gold -open-

[morgen]

It was the early evening; Morgen and Felicity had returned home and while Felicity helped Constance prepare supper Morgen and Lyonel went to the fields to bring the cows and horses back in the barn. They ate dinner after Morgen and Lyonel came in then normally Morgen sat with his brothers and sisters and told them a story, played a song for them on the lute, practiced their letters, or some other family oriented activity. Today, though, he was tired and wanted to breathe something besides books, manure, or a house with six children living in it. So after dinner he slid into his tattered work boots, slung his lute case over his shoulder, and strode for the barn.

They had two horses; Duchess and Cendrillon. They were both mares but Duchess was an old Jutland that had been in the family since before Morgen and Cendrillon was his beauty he brought from France; a black Arabian. They used to have more horses, but at a point had to sell most of them. As well as their cows, which they have three of now.

Mounting Cendrillon he gathered the reins, tapped his heels to her sides, and clucked his tongue. She responded immediately and burst into a light trot at his command, swishing her tail; as happy to be out as her rider.

Dusk now the sky was melting with deep orange, reds, and yellows setting the trees tops a flame and illuminating the Fieldren fields a brilliant gold as he moved Cendrillon to a canter through the fields that were his own and further into the wilder area. A hand reached up to pull his hair free of the pony tail, the wind blowing his neat hair and filling his lungs with the sweetness of heather. After a while he slowed Cendrillon and swung down from the saddle. A hand trailing over the smooth coat of her back and neck, then moving to her mouth to take out her bit. She was loyal and knew she would not roam far, so he let the reins go as he himself found a comfortable sitting area admist some bluebells. Sliding the lute off his back he layed back in the grass with his back against the earth, tucked his hands behind his head, and gazed up at the peeking stars.

[aoife]

She was doing this a bit backwards. Although, for Aoife, backwards was never something she was afraid of. Sometimes her most backward moments left her with her most inspired moments. Generally, Aoife would dye the spun wool, though this time she was dying the finished weaving. The roll of fabric she brought with her, one of the unaltered of her few trunks full of fabric, was plucked from its temporary home and eyed. Currently, she was staying in a small - very small, it used to be a play house it seemed - 'house.' Though it had a nice set up and it backed up to plenty of grazing for her flock, which were fenced in. Even more perfect. Though, she'd never dream of entertaining anyone there. Not that she had ever entertained back home...or had anyone to entertain, but it was just out of the question regardless. Too small.

This brought our fair Heroin outdoors. She had managed to borrow and beg delivery of a large wooden table, a few stools, and old casks that were used for holding wine long gone. She'd set up shop here, if she had to, after all, all coin would eventually run out and what would she do with herself otherwise? After a second trip to the castle's depths she had emerged with a fair amount of worn, near broken or just cast away items. One of those was a large paddle like object, next to one of the old casks. The other smaller items were inside the cottage, waiting for her to use them as she pleased.

Brushing her hands off against her apron, she'd march inside and then emerge minutes later with a pair of wicked looking shears and a large basket, the treasures inside hidden from view. With the laces tied tight on her more worn pair of boots, the less bell-shaped of skirts of less vibrant colours donned (meaning she left most of the layering in her trunk), and a ribbon tied tight at the nape of her neck, she was ready to go on excursion. Yes, dears, she was on a hunt for some of the indigenous dying plants and fungi.

Once checking the flock, she'd turn and saunter on to find the plants of her dreams, or at lease something fresher than the dried powders she had. Up along the hills and towards the treed areas. All day she would hunt and forage, picking this or pulling that, sniffing and wrinkling her nose at something foul she'd never encountered in Mann. This would continue on until the sun was setting...at which point she'd pop out of the wooded area and into a field, blinking as she walked along the line of trees. Of course, the entire time she was humming or singing wordlessly to herself. Who else would be around, at this point though, she'd have to figure out which direction lead her to a road and back to the cottage. She was a bad one when it came to getting lost, but she had a bit of food in her basket and was not afraid of the dark. Her gentle voice rose and fell clearly, but softly as she walked the line of trees.

[morgen]

Morgen liked the outdoors; but in small doses. He liked his farm work because it was familiar to him, something he had since childhood. But he didn't want to do that forever. Looking up at the stars, he contemplated the visit he would make to the Duchess for the Ambassador position. That was something he wanted, badly. For many reasons. One, it would provide him with a substantial amount of income that would promise his and his family's stability, and provide dowries for his sisters. And secondly he could travel and visit France again.

He closed his eyes and thought of France; the language, Paris, the wine, the streets, and the music. There was someone he had left there too, and it was only now he thought of her since a few days ago. He turned his face to the side, looking through the blades of grass across the field. Cendrillon grazing at the corner, near his feet. But she was in the past though, and stated so clearly in a letter. The only beauty he had of France was lovely Cendrillon.

He plucked a blade of wheat from the ground and placed it between his lips. Sitting up he scooted backwards so his back leaned against the lone tree standing some inches away from the cluster of forest behind him, the rolling fields set out before him. In a few hours he should probably be heading back, though if he got dark he knew his way home blind folded. So he worried little.

Reaching for his lute case he gently took it out. It was an old lute, one that belonged to his mother's father. It was painted white, though with the age the paint was chipping, and it had a faded red design on it on the back and spreading across the edge and beneath the neck. Rolling the steam of wheat between his lips he plucked a few strings, letting the notes strike the air and drift a moment. He brought his right knee up to him, the lute placed in his lap, and he began a song,

"Oh, hunter don't shoot me,
I am this mountain's, oh honey, doe
I am a doe and a wounded doe,
The hunter has shot me, oh honey, I am wounded."

It was a turkish folk song he had learned in France, where he learned to play his grandfather's lute. Music was part of the curriculum at the University, so he understood music like he understood math. He was skilled at it, but not talented.

I threw a pebble; it landed in the stream,
From the stream, oh honey, a couple of pheasants flew
My heart fell for you,
Who did, oh honey, your heart fall for..." He quieted when a higher pitched voice reached his ears. Cendrillon heard it too, and raised her head with ears pricked foreward, her brown eyes looking out into the distance. Morgen pressed his palm against the strings to silence them, his blue eyes passing from his horse to behind his shoulder but he could not see anything sitting down. So getting to his feet he gently leaned the lute against the trunk of the tree, shielding his eyes from the setting sun, and squinted trying to make out who it was approaching.

[aoife]

Poor Morgen's life was interrupted yet again by Aoife it seemed. Smiling and singing in Manx to herself as a free hand would roll through the wheat, her basket bumping softly against her slim hip. The setting sun behind her set her on fire as she was nearing them, she saw the horse, but not the rider yet. She slowed because it could be dangerous. The sun filtered through her blond hair like golden flames, skin almost opal under the rays. She seemed less brash without the vibrant fabrics, but she did not expect to see anyone and did not want to mangle any nice clothing, thus the modest earthy hues were the choice.

She had followed the soft plucking of the lute, though her words did not match his, she tried to match the tune. Her smile was soft as she saw the form rise from the wheat and she'd bob a quick curtsy to whomever it was, since she could not see clearly yet, the sun hitting the ..man, yes, and then she stopped and smiled a bit wider when she got near enough to make out his features.

"Hallo, Master Bookkeep."

[morgen]

The last person he expected and the last person he wanted to see in this...condition. He recognized her instantly, since the sun seemed to be setting against her eyes and his back was to it. His white poet's blouse had been untucked and the laces at his neck undone, his black hair let loose around his shoulders, and some nature loitering his shoulders. Swiftly he turned around and moved behind the tree in an attempt to be out of sight for a moment; quickly shoving his shirt into his breeches and grabbing the ribbon from his pocket, running his fingers through his hair and pulling it quickly into a pony tail any tying it.

He smoothed his hands over his shirt a moment, dusted the blades of grass from his shoulder, and when he was presentable, or as close as he could get to it, he turned around and walked clumsily from around the tree--knocking into his white lute leaned against it in the process. The instrument gave a loud hum from it's infliction and fell to the ground. "Bloody!-" He swallowed his tongue to keep from swearing; it was not polite in the first place and certainly not around a woman. Bending down he picked it up and set it on top of it's case, hoping no serious damage was done, then rose to his feet again.

He cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back as usual, summoning his signature...sombre visage, appearing as if nothing had passed or occured.

To her curtsey he made a humble bow. "Good evening...Lady Aoife." He did not feel proper addressing her by her first name, but she had given no second name. Trying to think of something to say quickly, words were escaping his mind as he tried to grasp them. Getting frustrated with himself, he noted her basket and blurted, "Picking flowers?" His brows pinched together a moment and rose up, as if in exasperation with himself.

[aoife]

She had tactfully ignored the disappearance and reappearance. She wanted to laugh though; the smile crossing her features was a wide one as she’d wave off the ‘Lady.’ Holding the basket filled with what he pointed out, flowers, some mossy things, etc, all on top of a white cloth in the basket. “No need to address me as such, as I ‘ave no title, Master Morgen. Aye, flowers and other mossy bits. I’m not disturbing you..?” She’d left that one hang as she’d try to swallow her smile to look as stern as he, but she couldn’t do it, it continued to play on her lips no matter how hard she tried.

Aoife was generally the annoying happy person, even with her hardships; she’d just glance over them as if nothing in the past mattered too much to her anymore. And when new hardships presented themselves, she could usually turn them to her favor. Her Uncle use to call her Lady Luck’s daughter and Aoife would never mind because even bad luck is luck regardless.

Blues would flit over the man’s appearance before glancing to the lute and quirking a brow at him as she waited politely to be told off or to scram.

[morgen]

"Oh, alright." He nodded to her comment on how he addressed her. He almost laughed himself as he watched her try to take on a appearance that was clearly not natural to her. "No, no I'm-" He shook his head slightly, then glanced at the area around him. Cendrillon having briefly glanced at the newcomer, then went on with muzzle in the grass grazing. Trying to think of a reason being out here, she was picking flowers and he was...well, now it all seemed rather silly. He shrugged his shoulders rather defeatedly. "Just catching my breathe, I suppose." Blue eyes flickered back to her.

Glancing to his footing he took a step towards the tree and leaned against it, arms coming to cross in front of his chest now. He looked up to her again, trying to make out what kinds of flowers she had gathered in her basket. "Might I ask what are the flowers for?"

[aoife]

Golden head would cant to the side as she smiled to him, thinking to herself that he looked quite fine when he seemed more relaxed. Or at least pretended to be. She'd finally move through the wheat towards him, slender shoulders would rise and fall under the layers of Irish linen. Looking down at the basket as she stood off from him. "Ah, these wee things are for dyes, for me fabrics and ribbons. I suppose I should start trying to make a new living for a bit, to buy more books, o'course."

Her smile would turn friendly as she'd look back to him, holding the basket out for him, "Take a few if ye wish, go give to a bonnie Maiden." The basket looked heavy, for it was a bit, she had a stoneware jug inside of drink, a small loaf of bread in case she did get lost for longer than she wanted. "Breathe? Yes, well, this country is verra nice." Nodding a bit as she'd look back to him.

[morgen]

He leaned up from the tree when she came nearer and stood before him, listening and nodding lightly. After her first comment he glanced down and the left corner of his mouth pinched into a half smile where a dimple appeared on his cheek and gave a partial laugh, "Yes, food for the mind." His eyes moved back up to her then and he made the slightest tilt of his head in a curious way. "Is it safe to assume you are a... tailor, then?" What else would she need dye for fabrics to make a living off of? It was his first guess.

To her offer, he looked down to her basket again. "My sisters will like them." He approached her and bent down a moment to pluck a few colorful flowers from her basket, then noting what she carried in it. "Is it not heavy? Perhaps we should sit down," Though it would be dark soon, he could lead her back to the villages. He would rather have that then have her wander off alone in the forest and get trapped by the dark. He stood patiently, watching her, and twirling the stems between his fingers.

[aoife]

"Oh! Do I look so auld?" That touchable laugh slipped her lips as she'd nod a bit and move to take a place by the tree. She pushed the flowers lightly to the side and pulled out the stoneware bottle and pulled the cork, humble ale from a nice old lady by her cottage. Then she'd lift the bread, holding them up to him, since she was now sitting and himself, standing. "Aye, shepherdess too. I've a small flock with me."

"Your sisters? You have many wee ones about? I have seen the two, so far." Waiting for him to take one or both, she'd shake her head a bit, pushing back a wayward curl from her face.

[morgen]

His hands slipped into the pockets of his breeches and only smiled slightly. Watching her settle down on the ground near the tree his dark brows would lift an inch or so when she said she was a Shepardess. "Are you really? My family had owned a flock of sheep once. Where is your farm located?"He had liked their sheep, better then their cows, but milk was faster and brought in more money. She had said she was 'stuck here,' in the shop before, and her accent was obviously not one native to Skye, or Scottish for that matter Morgen thought... though, he could be wrong. He was curious when he usually never was.

When she offered the bread he shook his head and withdrew a hand from his pocket to wave it. "No thank you, I just recently had dinner." He would however take a seat near her beneath the tree; leaning his back against the rough trunk and crossing his legs so he sat indian style. Morgen nodded his head and rested his hands on his knees, turning his head to look at her and reply, "Yes, well, not all of them are as young. I have six sisters and four brothers. Two of them are at war in the mainland, they are the eldest, and then I am the third eldest. My oldest sister is seventeen and the youngest is three. Then the two other boys are thirteen and the one you saw, Casper, he is five." He had a big family, but mostly just his immediate one. He paused, his eyes turning to take a slow sweep of the fields as the last rays of sunlight were beginning to vanish.

"And you? Do you have any siblings?"

[aoife]

Her arms would fall, thankfully, for holding up food and drink was fun only for a moment or two. She'd set the stoneware bottle down where he could reach if he wanted and then she'd started to tear and pop some bread into her mouth as she listened to him. So many! It had to be a handful, but she thought she'd rather enjoy it one day..a muuuuch later day.

Swallowing and smiling again, she'd shake her head a bit, "Nay, no farm here. I 'ave rent at the wee little cottage just outside the city for now. You know the one that is no bigger than a snuff box. But, it has a lovely yard and fenced so that my fluffy beasties do no wander too far."

Another bite before answering the family question, but that would result in another shake of her head, "No, my parents were far along in age when I decided to bless them with my appearance." A shining smile at her teasing, "But I say, I would of liked it. I have a few cousins from two aunts and their husbands, but after the raids took my Pappa.." She waved her hand a bit in that way she would pluck words from the air. It failed her and she shrugged those slender shoulders, "My Mum took after him shortly, her heart broken. Thus, that far went to cousin John and I am here!" And with that said she'd pick up her momentarily lost smile, eyes sparkling a bit with the thoughts of her parents so fresh on her tongue, but no tears fell. She was far beyond that point, right?

"Yer sisters, the older ones, they are not married, if they still live with you, I suppose not.." She was prone to musing aloud, "You are not either? That is not healthy. They and yourself have prospects?" Lord love her, for no one else did or will, she'd give him that impish grin, eyes sparkling with the knowledge she was poking in business he did not have to tell her of, another bit of bread taken before offering him some of the loaf again.

[morgen]

He did not have to tell her anything. He did not even have to speak with her right now. And he honestly wasn't quite sure why he was, anyone around the village would say that the Master Book Keeper keeps to his books and his family and no one else. Words that he was kind or friendly would not be heard from their lips, but they did have respect for him. Because he was obvious he loved his family dearly and did all in his power to secure their safety and happiness.

He watched her while she spoke, he found the Scottish brogues horrendous but he found something pleasant in her accent. Then he nodded gently. "I understand how you feel, somewhat. My mother passed away upon giving birth to twins and three years later my father followed her." He didn't say how exactly, nor would he say honestly what happened. Word has it that he simply died in his sleep, and the romantics say to an aching heart.

"No, they are not married. I think, honestly, because we are so busy keeping ourselves together. The eldest sister, Felicity, works daily and comes home to work more in the house. Constance, next in line, has never ending chores at home and watching the children all day long. I wish I could relieve them of such heavy responsibilties, but I cannot split myself into two places." He also did not yet have any money for dowries for them...but once he got that Ambassador position, worries would be laid to rest. As for himself? His bottom lip rolled inward, looking out across the darkening fields. "It is not my first priority to seek a woman. I have my family and my work foremost. The time will come when it is right, when I'm hardly looking I suspect."

He shifted so he sat with his feet planted on the earth and his knees sticking up, leaning foreward and folding his arms atop them. "As for you there are a plenty fine suitors in Turas Lans that would jump for you." He glanced back to her, burying the smile his lips held in the side of his folded arm as he rested his head.

[aoife]

Choking on the suitor thing and bread, she'd then laugh, so much so she hugged herself until the mirth subsided into pleasantly pinked cheeks, shinning eyes, and a light smile. The Manx would giggle a little bit more as she looked at him, "Och, yes. I suppose I should hear them calling any day now. Men are not hard to find, ones with real intentions, well.. I'm what my Pappa would say, 'Cha sturneishagh as muc,' 'stubborn as a mule'. My mum called it, 'spirit.' It'd take some giant of a man to put up wit' me, I am certain."

Soft lips would part in a sigh as she wriggled on the spot, curling her legs under her and under the skirts again, snickering a bit at the thought. The 'love' she had seen since her parents was just arranged madness, subservient women with brute cousins of hers. Not her ideal situation. "But, man, you do not find the women, she'll find you," nodding with her sage advice, "be it for love or money or both, you'll find yourself wed and yer family cared for, I see it."

Another expansive grin spread across her visage as she set the half loaf in her basket, "Play me something, Master Bookseller." Demanding, wasn't she?

[morgen]

Morgen rolled his shoulders slightly listening to her. "Oh, there are a plenty spirited women around here. I assure you it will not be too much of a quest to find a willing man." That made him think of Ari, his new found friend and one he thoroughly enjoyed spending time with. She was a first to match his wit and passions, but...she could be a little too much sometimes. Though he held her as a prospective close friend, he did wish the best of luck to which ever man she chooses. The heaven's know, he'll need it.

"I suppose. Perhaps it is safe to say they will find one another." He rose his head from his arms and looked across the field. The sun was well gone now and the moon on it's way to it's nightly throne. He heard her last part, but he hoped never to marry for the reason of money. He had seen and felt that mistake in France. It made him hate it as much as he needed it right now.

His brows rose, having forgotten for a moment that he had brought his lute. "As you wish," He unfolded himself and reached for his instrument. Gripping it by the neck he pulled the lute into his lap. It was an aged instrument, having belonged to his grandfather and made by his hands. It was white, but the paint began chipping off revealing the honey brown wood beneath. There were also red painted designs all over the back, but that was beginning to fade as well.

He strummed the strings and began picking his way through notes. His slender fingertips moved agilely betxist the golden strings, his opposite hand moving across the neck with a matched momentum. It was a lovely sound that overflowed with a variety of notes and slurs, a complicated composition indeed, but he played it well enough. The tone was deep and warm, something you might hear in the streets of Italy.

[aoife]

Never having been to Italy, it was still a joy. She'd relax slowly, laying on her side on the grass watching his hands pluck away on the lute, her legs curled towards her, still hidden under the skirts. Not smiling, but not frowning, she just listened. She had always liked music, but then again, it was not something she learned to do. She sang very well, but an instrument? Never had a moment to spare and it wasn't exactly on her list of chores.

Now and then he could heard a little low hum from her along with his strumming, but for the most part, this is as still and quiet as he'd see her. Music soothes the savage beast, doesn't it? Awhile Aoife might not be savage, or a beast, it had the same effect in the coming twilight and cool breezes along the line of the wood. The soft rustling of the wheat field before them, the leaves above.

All in all, a most pleasant place for Morgen to give his concert.

[morgen]

He had learned it in school when he attended the University in Paris; music was part of the curriculum. He had not some wonderous Bardic talent for it, but he was skilled. As one might be skilled in math or carpentry. He understood music notes because they were simple numbers, easily read. But he played on awhile, and indeed was a lovely song. He let it end with a final humming of a chord, letting it fade away within the aged lute then laid it on it's belly in his lap, with his hands folded atop.

Morgen's head turned so he might look at Aoife laying in the grass. Glancing to the risen moon briefly he spoke softly, not wanting to interrupt the evening's own symphony of the wind, the heather that whispered, and the crickets chirping. "I suspect I should be going now. It is late, and so should you. I will give you a ride, as you are not accustomed to this terrain, especially in the dark, I could not leave you to wander astray." He spoke in such a way that did not leave room really for arguments, but of course she had the choice to. Getting to his feet he slid the lute back into it's case and fastened the clasps. Slinging it over his shoulder he then walked a bit from the tree, his hand out and clucking to his mare that grazed not far away. She responded, picking her head up from the grass with her ears forward. Trotting the distance to him, wanting to go home as well. He picked up the reins and led the black Arabian over to Aoife.

[aoife]

Her blue eyes were half lidded as she listened to the music fade away, the night song beginning. She'd blink a moment as he started to speak, drawing herself into a seated position, plucking little pieces of grass from her clothing. Her lips twisted a bit at his statement of her riding back with him. She was half lost, which meant very, and he was right, the landscape was something of a mystery to her still. But .. she eyed the horse. Those were not her cup of tea. She had a few horrible run ins with a horse back home, a demon beast she ever saw one.

Hesitating a moment before getting to her feet, her hands brushing off her skirts. "If ye insist, but to let you know, those beasties do not like me. We may get on and she wont budge!" A firm nod as she collected her basket, slipping her arm through the handle to the crook of her arm. She'd step up a bit, meeting him slowly as she eyed the horse. At that point, she'd just look to him, not sure what was the next step in this ride home idea.

[morgen]

"Worry not, Cendrillon is a good horse." For the amount his Uncle paid for her, she'd just better be. In the back of Morgen's mind he was skeptical; she could be mareish sometimes. Before helping Aoife up he'd turn to his Arabian, a hand rubbing her forehead and whispering reassuringly in her ear. There he'd take a side step, one hand still on her nose and the other reaching for Aoife's wrist gently. "Come here," He'd lead her over to Cendrillon and raise her hand under the mare's nose. Her wide nostril's flared as she took in her scent, large black eyes turned to her. At first her ears flickered backward and she stopped her hooves, knickering at a high pitch. Morgen let go of Aoife's wrist to grab the rein's, the other patting her on the neck and murmuring woah to her. He looked back to Aoife,

"Horses are very sensitive, if you are nervous or in a negative disposition, they can pick up on it. Try to be at ease." He wouldn't let anything back happen to her, part of the curriculum at school was Horsemanship and Morgen preferred the natural way, and he often rode bareback. He was currently trying to train Cendrillon to ride without a bridle as well.

Once Cendrillon had calmed down while holding the reins he clucked to her and nudged the back of her front legs with the toe of his boot a couple times. She shifted on her four legs, then obediently went knelt down on her front legs. Not letting go of the reins, but not holding them tightly either, he gestured for Aoife to sit at the front of the saddle first.

[aoife]

She'd watch him with those wide eyes, blues sparking in the coming dark. She'd blink though when he took her by the wrist, through that fair flesh he could undoubtedly feel her pulse racing as he pulled her closer to the large horse. Her hand being held to the nose, she'd hold her breath and wait for it...yep! She made a strangled squeak but stayed stock still.

When he let go, she backed up smoothly, behind him of course, he was taller, a better target! "I have no ill will towards it, but..something about me, I suspect.." She'd trail off as she watched him with the horse. Blinking as she saw it kneel and smile a little. Wondering if she could teach her ram that trick, it was ruined by being told to get on the damned thing.

"Ah.." This was embarrassing, as she'd slowly edge up on the horse and, with a deep breath, Aoife would turn and scoot her rump onto the saddle, sliding skirts around her, looking at if to see if the side saddle was safe enough or what she was suppose to do. It would be easier for her to cling to the blasted animal if she was seated like a man. She'd settle the basket in her lap as she waited for further instructions if there were any.

[morgen]

"It could be that." He remarked. She didn't necessarily have ill will towards the mare. If she herself was just nervous, equines could pick up on that and so they become nervous. Or take advantage. It depends on the horse.

She was really not too large of a horse, Cendrillon. Just 15 hands and with the sleek and delicate profile of an Arabian, nothing compared to his Jutland mare who was 17 hands high and had hooves nearly as big as his face. But she was one of the most docile creatures, coming with labor and age. Morgen loved horses and indeed liked most animals, though they were messy. His only rule that they belonged outside, even cats and dogs.

When she was seated on the side, which would do for now as long as he went slowly, Morgen brought the reins over Cendrillon's head and mounted on the saddle behind her. "Ehm, if you don't mind..." His arms were slightly around her as he had to hold the reins to direct the mare. He dipped his head a bit and gave a small, shy sort of smile. "Truly if you feel uncomfortable and unsafe, I can just walk with you and lead Cendrillon. If you wish, just say so at anytime." He slipped his boots into the stirrups so the bottom was on the ball of his feet, his heels pointed down. Touching his heels to her sides he clucked and they were on there way at a slow walk through the fields.

[aoife]

She'd lift her arms a bit as he reached around her, which was fine, she had no problem with that. It was when the horse lifted, Aoife's breath would catch and she'd wobble into him, leaning her head away so she wouldn't knock skulls with him. "Ah, I do nah want to inconvenience you, Sire.." At last! A first! Aoife so out of her element, she was at a loss for words. Just trying to stay still and not squeak at every wobbled movement.

Her eyes would shut so that she could maybe relax, but she was tense between his arms. Hoping to herself that he would not be a mean man and make the beast run or hop or whatever they did to bounce around. She smelt quiet pleasant, warm and of plants and fibers mixed with that feminine thing girls had. He wasn't too far off of her, taking a deep breath, she'd notice he had a musk about him, books and ink..this was making her shoulders relax a tad, enough so she could open her eyes, too.

[morgen]

"I wouldn't mind at all, I am only concerned for you." Which was true. He didn't want her to be terribly frightened or anything or feel completely unsafe. They were not that far from the village, and he did not mind to go afoot. Cendrillon would just be faster.

He held the reins loosely and as they were rather close in the same saddle, he could catch her scent. Of flowers and heather and the country, a refreshing and sweet scent. He felt his throat closing up and he tried to clear his throat quietly. He could feel his pulse in his palms and suddenly felt very nervous. Cendrillon whipped her tail in the air and tensed, making an attempt for a trot, but Morgen pulled back on the reins firmly for the first time having slightly trouble controlling his horse. "Woaaah, woah," His deep voice rumbled, the mare's ear's pricking back words as she whinnied and snorted, tossing her head in the air. They were still walking, she was just putting up a fight with her footing and making it a little bumpy. Finally he tugged the reins backwards roughly, rougher than he ever had and felt bad immediately after for, but she did finally settle down. He loosened the reins considerably, giving the bit back to her.

He let out an enormous sigh of relief, scared himself that he was going to send Aoife over board, so to speak. "Sorry, she really usually is never like that." Not since she had been a young foal anyway.

[aoife]

Another strangled squeak and she was soon not just sitting before him, but her hands clasped to his arm, her body rolling, though she tried to stop any rough impact, into him, into his. She slid in the saddle and she was firmly pressed along him, well, if she was going to fall from the horse, he was coming with her! Her head turned and her breath brushed against the curve of his jaw, knowing she was so close to his hear, her voice was lowered, as if she was hoping the horse would not hear her.

"It is me, the horses in Mann never have liked me either! I am so sorry.." Her head would turn again, a few wheat blond curls brushing his neck and shoulder as she looked at the head of the beast, frowning to herself, which was generally the only frowns she would give.

[morgen]

The night air in the late summer's evening was perfectly clear and not humid, or windy, or cold. Yet when she had slid farther back into the saddle and well right into him, he wasn't sure if maybe she had elbowed him on the stomach on accident for the reason of suddenly being quite unable to breathe for a just a few seconds. Her breathe was sweet, much like her scent, and her soft hair.

He turned his head over his shoulder so he could cough, then turned back to her. "No, no it's alright. A good rider should be able to always control the horse." Which he obviously was not doing. But, thankfully, they had made some distance and were past his own house and her home was insight. "It won't be too much longer now, I can see your home just over there." He tried to act as nothing had happened really and just to keep his calm. Although he was finding it harding to do now then when in the middle of a rampage of his three younger sisters over ribbons. He was a little sorry that they had made it in the village so soon, but equally happy as it appeared Aoife was not enjoying the ride.

He woahed Cendrillon to a blessed stop before her small home. "I'll get down first," And he slipped off with ease, even though she was sitting side saddle in front him. Once on his own two feet he reached up towards Aoife. "If I may help you down..." It was not proper really for a lady to slide down in her skirts, and he didn't want her to fall anyway, so like with all of his sisters he placed his hands on her sides and gently plucked her up from the saddle, and set her down on her own two feet.

[aoife]

Those pink lips made a perfect little 'o' at his explanation and she nodded a bit as she chanced a glance at his face before looking out to watch the road and tried to forget the horse was surely trying to kill her. Once her cottage was in sight, it hit her. As the last short length of their ride, it wasn't as...unpleasant as she thought it would be. Fingertips would lift to push a curl behind her ear, as the horse was stopped, she'd brace for him to slide down and off it.

Once he did, his hands lifted to her waist and hers went to his shoulders, her basket in the crook of her elbow. Being pulled gently down, her thin leather soles found sure footing of the non moving ground and that was wonderful. She refrained from kissing the ground, but she would turn those wide blues up to him with a warm smile. Her hands moved from his shoulders to biceps, she was not the tallest of women, "Thank you, Master Bookkeeper, I am alive and well, we should attempt that again sometime, I may not cry in fear as often." Her fair cheeks were pinked at admitting her own fears so freely to him, but.. his hands were still around her small waist and she'd let her hands slide further down his arms, the basket bumping against her side as she did.

[morgen]

He was sure he was on fire.

For a moment he stood quite paralyzed when her hands slid from his shoulders to his arms. Clenching his jaw and staring at the ground fiercely, thankful that it was night so the darkness would be his visage as his natural one was failing him. He released her, but one hand reached for her wrist and then caught her fingers and raised her hand towards him, not raising his head or picking up his eyes and would just bow curtly over her elevated hand, but did not kiss her hand. "Indeed," He mumbled more to her knuckles then to her, then immediantly realease her.

Stiffening he would take a step back and move swiftly for his horse, "Do have a good night." His hands reached up for the saddle, one foot in the stirrup and he swung himself up. Gathering the reins Morgen made a few flucks and lightly touched Cendrillon's flanks with his heels, and sent her off in a canter in the night.

His movements had been abrupt and rushed, though to him he could have sworn everything passed in the slowest of motions.

[aoife]

She felt something inside her clench, around her stomach but dropping quickly through her, taking speech and breath with it. He would let go of her and her hands would fall, one folded tight against her to hold her basket, but he'd catch her wrist and with it, her heartbeat.

She'd bite her bottom lip as he took her hand, bowing over it and saying goodnight, she'd snake one foot behind her other as she dipped in a most courtly curtsy, her own actions feeling odd for her, but the world was swirling a tad, just tilting a bit. She'd nod a bit and he was quickly off.

What in God's name was this all about? She'd frown a bit, again to herself as she headed towards the bleating of her tiny house.