Piteous Solidarity

[Darcy B. Mueller]

Darcy’s head throbbed viciously, a biting, teeth grinding pain that radiated through the very center of her skull, making her fingers curl into the damp, gritty sand she had ultimately rolled face first into. Asper had thrown her. Unlike many, mainly those watching, she knew it had been an accident. That time. Unfortunately, though much stronger, faster, durable, the Capall are no more perfect than regular, island horses, in fact, if not obvious enough, they are more flawed. The sandy slope was still slick with the morning waves, and it had been her fault, not Asper’s for her descent. But whoevers fault, she was bleeding, could feel the warm, syrupy liquid seeping across her skull. Warm, oozing, matting her curl touched tresses together where it left its path. And slowly, it had made its way past her ear, rolling down her jaw in a singular bead, its maroon trail striking against the pallor of her skin and drip, drip dripping down and then against the slope of her neck, finally slowed at the collar of her shirt.

A shuddering breath escaped her chapped lips and she drew her fingers outward against the ground, straining against her muscles to check for further injury, and upon finding none, only soreness, she made to force herself to her feet, only to feel a slightly rough nudge at her shoulder, jarring her forward an inch or so. “Yes, yes, Asper, I’m fine. Thank you for the consideration.”She has been told time and time again that she is a lunatic for being so trusting, for allowing her Capall so close. She only turns her back to him when she must, and knows that if he may kill her, then at least she will have died doing something she loves with all her might, being around a creature that she loves with every single part of her ‘might’. On her feet finally, she would turn to face Asper, and immediately he would half step back, his ears flicking toward the ocean that tossed it white crested waves skyward.

Her only response would be to raise a brow, and neither calm nor apprehensive, her hand reaches for the glinting leather bridle falling against Asper’s cheek, and with a gentle hesitation from him, he follows her lead as she moves back toward the way of the rocks, not too far off, looking to use them as something to get a bit of a boost from, because while Asper is small for a Capall, he is still taller than she can manage. Her thoughts trail off, partly because she is trying to block out the babble of those around her, the whispers that catch on the wind and dribble into her ear, bouncing around the inside of her head. She can hear them, ‘She’s going to be killed.’, ‘She trusts that creature far too much.’, but she’s heard it all, and she figured it would be a waste of her time to hear it again, so she moves on. She feels very much alone, her solitude enormous, with people standing all around her. Her trailing thoughts move to pity, and are only stopped when suddenly not too far off, a hazy figure is moving towards her. A stranger? She questions internally. Someone she knows? At this distance, she is not sure, but she will soon know, because they continue to approach her. Leaving her to only tilt her head to the side like much like a curious puppy, an expression of question written across her delicate features.

[Rhys Blake]

The fingers of the wind seemed to play with his hair as he trotted his gelding along the edge of the cliffs. The gelding, a large Gypsy Vanner which had been imported to the island, seemed to enjoy the breeze, though its reasoning was far from that which motivated a Capall. The rider upon his back seemed to take a sort of pleasure in the way he pranced, feathers of hair along his legs, as well as his mane and tail, dancing in the breeze. The breeze itself, or rather, the fog in it, dampened the gelding’s coat ever so slightly, turning the pale grey into splotches of the color mixed with darker shades. Were it not fall, Rhys easily would have easily been up here killing time with Czar, but for the last weeks, he’d been keeping the gelding safely at home.

Their ride proceeded along in quiet ease, save for the sound of the wind, and the ocean beneath the cliffs. It was a good day. Had this been any other, Rhys would have much rather been down on the beaches, trying to capture a Capall for himself. Despite his love for the gelding, he’d never be suitable for the races, and if by some miracle he would have been, the young man still wouldn’t have risked him. Czar was a prize to him in his own right. No, though, he wanted to ride, and were he to have the chance, he’d need coin. Had he no coin, that eliminated his chance to ride from the get-go.

This was his reason for coming up here, today; Work. After arriving that morning, he’d been told to go remind those which had not paid fees that it would be necessary to do so before they’d be counted as officially entered. He’d already checked off a good portion of riders from the list, for they’d been down on the beaches to train. This one next on the list, a female listed as Darcy Mueller, had been seemingly smarter than the rest of the pack, coming to the cliffs instead.

Rhys shifted his positioning in the saddle abruptly, as he sensed the contentedness of the ride ending as Czar scented one of the water horses on the breeze. He knew immediately; the twitching of the flesh over the gelding’s withers was what gave it away. It had always been his ‘tick’ so to speak. The young man squeezed his hand tighter over the reins, producing the sound of leather on leather as his glove tensed, murmuring quietly beneath his breath. “We’ve done this before, you’re fine.” The horse gave a quiet neigh in response.

Emerging out of the obscurity of the mist, he could see the distinct shape of a horse and rider. Rhys slowed his own mount’s approach. Reaction time would be one of the few things on their side were the Capall Uisce to become excited at their appearance. As if nature intended for just that to be the case, a sudden gust of air, chillier, cast their scent directly toward the water horse. While Rhys was suddenly thankful for the scarf and darker, duster-type jacket he wore, Czar’s ears flicked nervously, skin twitching again.

As the distance between them closed, Rhys could soon see the other rider clearly. He inclined his head slightly, moving his free hand back around behind himself to better support his weight in the saddle. “Are you a Ms. Darcy Mueller?” He queried, amplifying his voice slightly over the sea below, and the wind.

[Darcy B. Mueller]

She knows faster than anything, that this stranger does not mount a Capall, rather, an island horse, because instead of an eerie, purely territorial wail that Asper has proved himself to be so good at, the stallion only bears his head back, not so equine as before, his motions predator, raptor-like. Asper is asserting his dominance, showing out, but he means no harm, he just doesn’t quite know his strength, at least she chalks it up as such. Still, he rears in a little half step, jerking her backward because her hand is still holding fast to his bridle, and when his footing returns to the ground violently, a little spray of small pebbles from the sand under him are kicked up over her legs and all around her. His huge hooves drag circles.

She does what might seem like the unthinkable, to others, who do not have any understanding of the Capall, pressing him backwards with all the force she can muster, her shoulder now aching in rhythm with her skull, and without hesitation, she presses herself in front of Asper, facing him, tugging his snout down while he is un-expecting, so that he is forced to breath in her scent. The effect is immediate, as his nostrils flare to take it in, and he finally holds still under her dainty hand, but firm hold.

This stranger is probably worried about what he’s gotten himself into, coming around her, a tiny girl, who already has blood and sand streaked across her face, not to mention an obviously aggressive Capall.

But then again, she thinks, what Capall isn’t aggressive?

She finally returns her attention and gaze to this man, and instead of being upset, like most would, at his upheaval of their peace, a sly smile is toying with the corners of her lips. She realizes that when she fell, her hair must have fallen away from its bun, because it is wind tossed, and cast around her like a messy halo, making her look very young in the vaguely backlit by the morning sunlight, breaking through in patches through the dreary fog gray fog.

She hears, “Are you a Ms. Darcy Mueller?"

While she is curious as to whom this man is, the first words she speaks to this man are, “They call me Tris.” There is no asking in her stubborn voice, she is undeniably telling him to call her this. Her intent is not to be rude, but she has always been very straightforward, and so though she asks exactly what she wants to know, in the back her head she is praying she won’t scare him off. “What do you need?” One of her slender brows arch, a common expression for her. She takes in his sandy hair and his impressive mount, and her green eyes are beseeching and glint playfully as they look up to him and meet his own.

[Rhys Blake]

Czar tensed slightly as the stallion reared. Rhys flexed his palm slightly, eyes sharp, alert as he watched…. Once the horse stilled though, the horse’s ears flickered uncertainly. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent that he was naturally programmed to fear. Rhys moved his palm from behind him, to pat the Vanner’s neck soothingly. He understood the fear.

This girl, he decides nearly immediately, is decidedly attractive. However, it was true that with her hair unbound, cascading around her face and being tossed in the breeze, that she does look young. Between that and her size alone, it shaved what appeared to be a good two years off of her appearance. In contrast, however, was the blood on her face. Certainly that would be upon the face of somebody… well… older. Puzzling it over for a moment, he rejected the thought. No, she’d have to be of some reasonable age, considering she was to ride in the races.

Her response draws him out of his inner thoughts. “Alright. Tris.” A smile comes slowly to his face. Amused. Rhys hadn’t missed the tone at all. It was demanding. It sort of made him want to laugh…. He restrained the urge however.

The Vanner dances beneath him, antsy in such close proximity to the water horse, and his attention to her wavers. He pats the neck of his mount once more, his fingers trailing away slowly after a motion. The young man murmurs in hushed tones for a moment, wanting him to settle. By now, the horse’s nerves had been shot, after doing this all day; certainly he was not happy. It took a span of at least a couple of minutes before the horse finally settled enough for Rhys to look up to Tris again. His eyes made contact with her easily.

“I was sent here from the Tavern… I’ve been requested to notify all participants of the deadline for registration. It will be in exactly one week’s time. If you wish to race officially, you’ll need to stop by and pay them.” His voice was even and polite. He’d had a couple of Riders snap at this policy earlier that day, and he was seemingly cautious now at delivering the news. “I hope its not an inconvenience, but, well, business is business.” His eyes practically said I’m the messenger. Just the messenger. Don’t be angry with me.

(Sorry, having a little bit of a writing block today. D:)

[Darcy B. Mueller]

“Oh of course. I’d actually forgotten.” Her head tipped to the side slightly, her thoughts calculating in the silence. It was strange to see the look of one gets in their eyes when they are hopeful of forgiveness, but she can see it there in his, strong and not at all masked. She doesn’t know that look well, it’s not something she’s encountered often in her short life, only a handful of times to be honest, but she knows it well enough to recognize it when she sees it.

She’s actually frustrated, with Asper, and his large temperament. With expansive distaste that can’t help but be present between their horses; she knows he’ll have to leave, because of it. She would leave too. Asper comes first. Its rule set so harshly in her mind there isn’t even any thinking about it. She understands. But she’s so plausibly tired of being lonely that it aches right in the very center of her core. For her, there is nothing in this world but Asper, who cannot even always be trusted not to kill her. She thinks it is absolutely treacherous to think such thoughts, scolding herself internally. But she also thinks that in the vast space of the beach and the distance between the two of them everybody has a reason to be. Everybody but her. Is this man one of those everybody’s? Maybe she’ll never know.

She dips her head forward; it’s almost like a bow, because her torso moves with the action. She is being playful, it is obvious. “Thank you for the reminder…” And then she trails off, searching for his name, but she can’t seem to recall.

“I’ve told you my name, or, it seems, you already knew it. Yours is?” There’s that demanding tone again. Unaccustomed to company, it seems a lot like that particular tone can’t help but be a part of nearly everything she says.

Asper is docile behind her, for the moment, made complacent, the wind continuously sweeping her scent in his direction as it nosed at her shoulder, shoving lightly enough that it doesn’t force her forward, but perhaps it is only because she has grown accustom to his roughness, still, she can only hope he doesn’t bare his sharp teeth and decide to tear into her. He quickly grows impatient with lack of attention, and isn’t afraid to voice his distaste at all. It’s odd to think that she has grown used to the injuries, and such is the reason why she isn’t much faced by the blood that has now dried on her skin. But she has run out of fingers and toes to count the scars that rake her small frame, down her neck, and raking across her back, and a particularly thick cluster of them curling around her hip. It’s all proof that Asper is her life. She isn’t sure if she minds or not.

[ You're kidding right? Your writing is lovely. ]

[Rhys Blake]

“I’ll be sure to let my manager know that she’ll be seeing you down there sometime. I’m glad I could be of some help.” Admittedly, he was pleased she hadn’t snapped, or gone off on a sort of rant about how they were being unreasonable, too early, annoying for coming, ect. as many of the riders had been earlier that day. It was a pleasant surprise. She certainly didn’t seem, fazed by the time crunch as many, many others were.

That thought made his mind wonder for a few seconds. Time crunch. He was just beginning to feel the pressures of it. Would he be able to capture his own Capall Uisce this year, or would, like in years passed, he have something come up that prevented it? Last year it had been work, and the year before that, the need to reinforce Czar’s pen to ward off any inland-coming water horses. Rhys knew he wanted to ride, despite these things. It would be a milestone for him in the horse… er, water horse, world. Not only that, but he deeply wished to experience the thrill of the Race, rather than being a spectator once more.

Seeing as the horse was reasonably docile, and had yet to move again, he gave Czar a squeeze around his middle, forcing the horse to edge closer so they didn’t need to raise their voices as much. The whites of the gelding’s eyes shown briefly with the closer proximity. With the grace gained only from riding actively for a long period of time, Rhys swung himself down, though he seemed to favor one leg. It was cocked slightly, the action vaguely like a horse in itself. He tangled one hand beneath the long flow of mane, and used his other to grasp the black leather of the bridle, where his thumb lightly ran back and forth over the grey of Czar’s cheek.

“My name is Rhys Blake. At your service.” His tone held an amused edge this time, but overall, was playful in return. Thankfully his horse had calmed some, even daring to attempt to rub against his rider’s side. The jab of the side of the bit and the feeling of leather scraping into his side, despite being on the outside of a layer of jacket, was still slightly uncomfortable. He chuckled musically, moving to shift the horse back with a gentle press of his palm to the Vanner’s chest. Unlike many of the Capall, he stepped back obediently, which earned him a good pat on his shoulder. “Silly, Czar. Can’t you see I’m talking buddy?”

(Wasn't kidding actually, lol. But thank you. xD By the way, you should join the Chatzy!)

[Darcy B. Mueller]

Rhys Blake. The name tumbles around in her skull, bouncing for a moment, and then sticks firmly.

“Your leg, you’ve broken it before.” Is isn’t a question at all, it’s a statement, as if she knows and she is repeating knowledge she has already been told. Rethinking her harshness, she makes an effort to try and turn it into a question, but she feels the damage has already been done. “…Yes?”

She wordlessly watches the exchange between him and his horse, who he calls Czar. It is friendly, not guarded, like she so often is around Asper. A gesture born out of habit and it warms her to them.

The wind whispers through her curls once more, tugging them into the wind. The wave’s crash over rocks on the far side of the cliffs, where the steep edge meets the water and the beach ebbs away into ocean. She can feel it physically calling to Asper, his ever-flinching muscles aching for it with every fiber in his body. He loves the ocean, but he will listen to her today. Right?

She steps back, so that she is at Asper's side, and without any question, speaking to Rhys, she says, “We should race.” In her light, airy voice, weighed down only by her stubborn nature. And with confidence, she hoists her leg into her stirrup; a quick movement has her settling lightly in her well-worn saddle, its twisting vine design that used to be etched into the leather is slowly fading, edging into the background. Still, it is comfortable and it serves its purpose well enough. This is where she is at home. Asper, ever sensitive to her moods, can feel the urge she has to run. He knows it will be an ill-matched competition, but it matters not.

“To the edge of the ocean. Where the sea meets the cliffs.” It’s almost like a dare, to herself more than Rhys, who’s island horse will run straight and true every time. Czar lives to please Rhys. And Asper lives to be sung to by the ocean’s sweet lull.

Again she feels eyes on her, and not just the man who stand's in front of her. It makes her uncomfortable, but not doubting of her ability, even though she still questions herself internally, going through the motions.

Can she control Asper? Whose voice calls more urgently to him, hers, or the oceans? It’s always the same question that haunts her eternally. She’s not sure she will ever have an answer. It could go either way.

She decides it is now or never to find out. Her glinting-gold gaze turns to Rhys, and she waits, for him to mount once more, her heart thrumming in her chest.

[Rhys Blake]

His brows rose in thought. Smarter than he’d assumed, it turned out. She was certainly bright. Usually the limp was something few people noticed, or at least, not until he felt the need to use a cane when it really began to bother him. Rhys gave her a slow, approving nod. “Yes, actually. It was Czar when he was younger, when I was a boy. I haven’t been a fan of stallions since then.” He wouldn’t go into anymore detail on the subject; he didn’t think she cared to hear it and he certainly didn’t want to bore her. First impressions tended to be inaccurate after all.

Absently, he rubbed Czar’s shoulder, and the horse leaned into his touch. Not five seconds later, mentioning of racing came. He knew what the results would be, yet despite this, he grew curious. An up-close, or at least, closer than he had ever been previously, race with one of the Capall would certainly prove interesting, and a welcome break from work for a short while. Aside from that, if he managed to get a hand on one of them for himself, a little strategy wouldn’t hurt either. “Alright. That sounds…” Rhys thought for a moment, his eyes sharpening with the coming competition. "Fun." A few hundred yards; Czar could make that. While the Vanner’s talent was not in speed, it was there for endurance. The impossible, wild little thought of triumphing over the water horse was the last thought that spurred him to swing his body into the saddle.

Once settled in the saddle, knowing Czar was uncomfortable with moving much closer, her reined him parallel to Darcy’s mount. Rhys shifted his posture slightly, moving into the same form he used when he brought Czar to a gallop. “Ready… Set….” He directed over the wind, toward Darcy. “GO!”

A surge of adrenaline hit the boy, which seemed contagious to his mount.

Not waiting after he gave the call, he only needed to tense his legs for the Vanner to break into a gallop. That, accompanied with the fact that the horse suddenly seemed to realize there was a water horse behind him, kept the gelding at a speed which was impressive, even for an Island horse. The white feathering along his legs flared in the wind, along with the long, grey mane and tail, and for a moment, because of the mane, it was a wonder Rhys could even see what was ahead of him. Really, he didn’t see much, but he never let on as his face was lashed with the strands of hair.

[Darcy B. Mueller]

On “GO!”, Asper sparks to life under her without any needed urgency from her. Wheeling in a half circle, every muscle, every bone is moving in unison. His movements become very predator, surging him toward the island horse in front of himself, and Darcy would rather put herself at risk than Rhys, so she immediately guides Asper away from Czar, but that results in his hooves touching the briskly moving waves that roll in from the sea in rapid succession.

It’s enough of a distraction to Asper, who is startled by this leniency that it allows her to tug back on his reins, and dig her heels into his sides, forcing him to pick up his head, but lean back on his hind legs. His attention trains in on her quickly, seeing she means business, seeking out the direction she imposes.

She changes her hand so frequently that he must listen to her, and so when she gives him even the slightest bit of his head, he charges forward, truly running now, less interested in Czar, more interested in the waves that kick up all around his steps with each pace. Her arms are splattered with sand, and salt water sprays up around her, both sting at her skin strongly.

Darcy can only lean forward to improve their speed, chest almost horizontal to Asper’s spine, her slender fingers tangle in his whipping mane, black and long. She can feel his muscles rippling insistently under each mile-long stride. It looks effortless, she is sure, but she is still waging war with Asper, digging her leg into his heaving side as he dares to weave further away from the land. She can feel the iron chimes, which feel suddenly heavy in her pocket. She’s not even sure where Rhys and Czar are now, because Asper and her are caught in crossfire, even as they continue to move at break-neck speeds. They are eating up the ground below them, and Asper hasn’t even broken a sweat. He lives for this. It’s flying without wings; there can be no other words to describe it. She suddenly realizes that Czar a few lengths behind them, but that Asper is worming, squirming to get closer to the two. When she checks him, digging her heel into its side sharply, he hauls to an abrupt stop, and cants his body sideways. Suddenly she is clinging to the saddle, instinct kicking in. He is rearing, his front hooves pawing at the ground, barely inches away from Czar’s head. She only recognizes Asper’s high pitched squeal several seconds into the event. Her iron is charms are cradled in her palm instantly. She shoves them against Asper’s neck. His skin is hot, and it pulsates with magic, the calling of the sea. He smells like salt and the waves. The iron brings him back to the ground. Immediately, she is turning him in circles, away from water and Czar at once. He is no longer equine, and it is taking all her power to haul him away, away, away from the ocean. It sings and it sings.

[Rhys Blake]

Thundering hoof beats pounding the turf beneath them was all Rhys heard initially. Sky, ground, ocean; it all was blended together in a streaking blurr. After what seemed like seconds, though, Asper was caught up. His own mount altered the course sideways in attempt to escape the closeness. Seconds more and they were being passed. The thud of Czar’s pace could equate to the fluttering of a butterfly; whereas the water horse’s beat was that of a falcon about to plunge. In a way, it scared Rhys more than it exhilarated him. In that moment, he was fearing for Czar more than himself. Once the horse was ahead however, the feeling of impending doom lessened slightly.

Rhys’ gaze fixes ahead, eyes narrowed and focused. It was because of this that he sighted an abrupt change in their competitor. Something wasn’t right. Just as he was preparing to slow, the reality dawned on him that it was quite simply, too late. They were practically on top of them. Time seems to slow down. In slow motion they neared the wheeling beast, which has begun to rear, hooves raking the air. He has no choice but to hall back on the reins fast and hard. Czar lets out a terrified whinny, white feathers abruptly coating with grime as his hooves dig in. Much to close. They are much too close. Rhys realizes this in a moment of horror. His hold on the reins changes, jerking his gelding’s face clear of the powerful hooves of the rearing Capall with split seconds to spare. In fear, and feeling the sudden command, Czar turned sharply, perhaps the sharpest turn he’d ever performed… Right out from underneath Rhys.

The boy did a complete 180 in the air, suddenly belly-down. Blue eyes snapped painfully wide. On instinct alone he flailed, trying to catch himself as he was suddenly falling.

His bad leg took the full impact, then the rest of him simply plowed to the ground.

Time sped back up.

Pain shot intensely though his entire body, radiating in a red hot inferno beginning with the old injury. Rhys did not cry out, though tears glazed his eyes. He was dazed, limp. His mind registered the danger, and his body the pain. The pain overrode the danger. Moving was impossible; It’ll kill me…. the (only slightly) overreacting thought coming immediately. His entire body was trembling, aching from his toes to his skull.

He blacked out.

The next thing that Rhys remembered, though it was only after a couple minutes had passed, was quick, warm breathing against his hair. His entire body was still locked up, occasionally trembling from pain, but this feeling was a tiny, tiny relief. Despite Czar’s terror of the nearby Capall, the gelding had returned to his rider. It would seem to anybody watching that the Vanner was guarding his fallen form in a way, protecting him from getting trampled if Asper were to come back in that direction, yet also seeming to apologizing for dumping him in the first place.

Rhys slowly moved a hand to touch Czar’s muzzle, pulling back as a hand-print of blood stained his coat. His entire body was aching, though pain was magnified in specific spots. Along with the main agony in his leg, Rhys became aware of his torn palms from the fall, and a split in his lip courtesy of the impact to his face. Both of these things, however, were still minor in comparison to his leg.

His leg. The pain in it made him want to be sick, yet he felt too terrified to make anymore movements for the time being, even despite Czar offering comfort. Instead, he held as still as he could, save for the uncontrolled tremors, gazing at the ground before him, and Czar's muzzle and hooves that were just a short distance away.

[Darcy B. Mueller]

Darcy can only just catch the incident that occurs behind them as Asper returns to the ground, fidgeting and continuing to try and toss his hooves into the air, wanting to rear again, but she keeps her weight down on his reins. Down, rather than back, so that his bridle’s leather straps bear down on the delicate bones of his snout. She dares him to try for his head. Their dynamic must be interesting, she thinks, because as much as she loves him, she knows that leniency will allow him to eat her, and anything else in his path up in an instant. She is caring, insightful even, but at the same time, she is harsh as ever, often times acting as Asper’s worst critic.

Not in the same judgmental way that everyone who watches them is, because Darcy actually knows Asper, and corrects him on things that actually need correcting, and she is also impossible for him to escape, because she knows every little nook and cranny that there is to his mind.

Which is why she knows that his next move will not be turning back to Czar and Rhys but instead, to dart towards the sea. His impulse to rear and throw off her control is forgotten, as he instead just turns to moving completely against the control she was asserting. His strides are choppy and cut through the sand in big digging motions. His body is not adept to fighting against his head, and so, she just continues trying to weave him away and in circles, forcing him to listen. He must, he must, or it will be the death of both her and him. Or at least her, if they disappear into the tide. For him, it would mean freedom. His efforts speak of his unhappiness, perhaps, but she is too selfish and too brave, or perhaps more accurately stubborn, to let him go.

It takes several moments for her to calm him down, and even then, his placation is only so-so. She moves her hand to press it to his shoulder, and drag it up and down there, trying to calm him with her touch. She leans forward in the saddle to breathe words of comfort in the direction of his ear. And then, after her mind becomes settled in way of Asper’s well-being, she remembers Rhys. Her golden green gaze finally finds the man and she discovers him on his stomach in the recently dished up sand. “Oh..no, no..” There is a deep rooted sound of dread that twines its way into her voice, into even just those three words.

Her first instinct is to immediately leave Asper so that she can move to assist Rhys, but her second thought is that of Asper. Will he take off given the chance? She is torn, even though part of her knows that she shouldn’t. Wouldn’t any other human immediately go to the rescue of another human rather than not for the sake of a beast that most would consider evil? Her hands suddenly become shaky. She has never been nervous before, about a situation like this. Perhaps long ago, when she first began training with Asper, but it has been years since then. And now, she feels the frustration of jittery nerves again. It scares her.

Finally, she decides that she has to do what’s right. She can’t imagine what will happen if it costs her Asper, but that does not stop her now. She swings her weight from Asper’s saddle, and with a similar fluid motion, she pulls the reins over his head so that they are in front of him, and she is able to lead him with them. She pulls him as close as she dares to Rhy’s fallen figure, and then, turning back to look at Asper, she makes another immediate decision, and despite the chill in the air, she pulls her shirt up and over her head, leaving her standing in the open, chilled air with just her thin undershirt on. Darcy uses her shirt to cover as much of Asper’s head as she can, and ties her sleeves under his jaw to hold in place. He is unable to see, and he is forced to take in her scent. It is a win-win, and she can only hope it will keep him still. From there, she takes the heel of her boot and digs a hole into the sand, dropping Asper’s reins into it.

Her eyes linger on him for a moment more, and then, she turns away from him, and moves carefully over to Rhy’s side, where she kneels to the ground. “I’m sorry.” She offers, but it is all she says. She is too proud to beg for forgiveness. Why would she need forgiveness from a stranger anyway? Tentatively, she snakes a hand under one of his arms, and then her other hand moves to his back, in such a position that she will be able to roll him back onto his back. “This is going to hurt.” She tells him. It has to be done though, and so, before he has time to resist, she does just as she intents. She is immediately glad that she is muscular, because it makes it at least possible to maneuver him, despite the fact that he is quite a bit bigger than her. And then she immediately tugs him upward into a sitting position. “What can I do to help?”

[Rhys Blake]

The man’s breaths were rough little pants, almost strangled with the effort it took as they wrenched from his throat. After removing his hand from the palm print of blood, he stared at it for a long moment, before dropping his hand. Absently, and painfully, he rubbed it son the grass, in a weak attempt to get rid of some of the blood. He was oblivious to the girl’s interactions with her water horse, more concerned with himself for the moment… And rightfully so. The pain… Was nearly overwhelming. He had the strong suspicion that if the leg wasn’t broken clean again, it was likely cracked… Which, he hoped, wasn’t the case. Memories from the initial injury returned, nearly causing him to black out again.

All the while, the gelding didn’t dare move from his side, especially when the woman dismounted and left her Capall unattended. Really, the Vanner seemed frozen in place… Almost as all four hooves, planted firmly in place, had been cemented in that fashion. As the woman neared, and set to rolling the man over, the horse sniff of Rhys’ hair, in a nearly protective way. A small nicker sounded from Czar;s throat a second later when Rhys’ grunted in pain.

A voice… He’d just barely heard the voice, and then… Hands. He felt hands on him. It was an odd sensation, through the pain, particularly when the last flash he remembered was something like hooves coming at him. That was another thing to be thankful for… Or was it? There was that voice again, warning him. Unfortunately for him, that warning didn’t quite register. The sound he produced as a result of being rolled over gained a sound of response from his mount, while simultaneously causing black dots to flood his vision. Thankfully, when she sat him up, he managed to withhold another sound, jaw locking tight. The black dots seemed reluctant to leave him.

It took him a long moment of blinking, leaving his eyes closed a few seconds, and repeating, before his vision finally cleared. When it did, he was greeted with the face of the girl from before, the one which had been riding the very beast which had caused him this nearly intolerable pain. The urge to snap nearly boiled up within him, fueled with the sensation of pain in his leg. At the last second, he muted it, settling with a massive exhalation of breath.

“I don’t know if there’s much you can do… My leg was broken as a boy, and I think it might’ve happened again.” Once more, his eyes closed, as he dared an attempt at trying to shift the limb. Just the contraction of the muscles caused his jaw to tighten once more, his face darkening with the shadow of the sting. When Rhys opened his mouth to speak, his voice was resigned. So much for the races this year… “If it’s not broken, then I don’t know what it is… Is there anything around we can use for a splint?”

Glancing around slightly, his blue eyes settled on the nearby Capall Uisce. Rubbing his lips together slightly, he was abruptly aware of the taste of copper on his lips. This served to remind him of the same substance on his palms. At that moment, a sense of uneasiness began settling over him. Even blindfolded, he did not trust the beast. He would never trust his own, if he ever managed to get one, either. It was the way of the rider. Those water horses were not island horses, or pets of any kind. It was downright dangerous to treat them as such.

His eyes flicked from the creature to his gelding, and then to the girl. For the moment, he was distracted from the white-hot iron that was his leg. “Is your stallion going to be okay, unsecured like that? Perhaps I could have you ride for help... With their reactions to blood and all.” So many images, memories, streamed through his thoughts then. Numerous in number were the ones of the frenzied creatures tearing their riders and each other apart at the scent of blood.

[Darcy B. Mueller]

He might have tried to hide it, but Darcy saw it immediately, both the intolerable pain that swarmed over him, and then his anger. All of his emotions were easy to read, in his nearly incapable state. It was understandable, so Darcy was not fazed. This was, after all, her fault. “If you need to snap at me, do it. Yell at me, scream, whatever. But get it over with, because holding it in isn’t helping either of us.” She might be a girl, but she was not fragile. She had spent her whole life trying to prove it. Her scars seemed almost self-inflicted, in a way. She had to be tough, she had to get hurt, and be crushed into the dirt by the trials she put herself through, just so she could show people that she could still stand back up after all of it.

She was a woman, a girl, who was playing a game in a man’s world. She refused to lose. Even now, she was taking on the role of the decision maker, something that she knew most men would cringe at. Men and their ignorant need for self-assured masculinity, for dominance. “Don’t tell me I can’t do anything. I can, and I will.” She knew that his intentions were not to smother her ability; rather, he meant to make it out as a hopeless case. But she had to fix this. That was always her goal, to fix, fix, fix. For so long, it had been about Asper, about fixing Asper. But now, she has to fix a situation in which there is another human being. A human being. She knows how to react in situations with Asper, but he has always been easy for her to understand, even when he did not understand her.

But human contact is so far out of her league that she feels as if though she has been blinded, and forced to swim through quick sand. Everything is murky. Her logic cannot quite keep up with what is going on. “I..”She pauses, and then tries again, only to stammer. “I g-guess..” She glances around herself at his suggestion of finding a splint, but there is nothing but tossed up sand around them, and the not too far off sound of waves breaking against the crest of the shoreline.

‘Get it together, Darcy’, she reprimands herself. ‘Make a decision; figure it out.’ And then, she forces herself to do a mental check of the situation. It just so happens that she does it out loud. Her voice is so quiet, so timid, that she prays Rhys does not hear it, but she is sure that he does. She is sure that she will have lost all of her power, and her recognition as something who is in charge by the end of this. His suggestion is the first that she assesses. “I can’t leave you and go for help on Asper. The Capalls will smell blood, your blood. One might be lured up on shore.” That was one possibility checked off the list. “So if I can’t leave you, then it’s a matter of which horse we go on. And what we do with the other horse, in turn.” Suddenly, she turned her gaze back to Asper. Her immediate want was to take him. But Czar…

Her thin brows pinched together. Her hands trembled visibly. “I cannot leave Asper unattended here.” And then, in a whisper. “The sea will surely call him back…” She glances up at Rhy’s horse, who is obviously unwilling to leave his side. “You cannot leave Czar.”

Her mind became a whirlwind. There really was no winning. And as much as she did not want to admit defeat, which was how she saw the idea of asking for help, she breaks, finally, and lets her troubled gaze fall upon Rhys. It takes a lot of energy to muster up an at least somewhat authoritive voice. She tries her best to make it seem as if though her mind is already set, but that she is merely asking his opinion. She knows she fails terribly. “What…what do you believe would be the best choice in the matter?”