(Backdated entry.)
“I'm telling you, she's a good horse,” Tremaen stated, with as much certainty as he had the hundred and fifty times before that day. He looked out on the yearling mare he'd chosen with a smile, one foot resting on the bottom slat of the corral and elbow on a post. She was running the corral again, pure white mane and tail streaming behind her. “Look how fast she is.”
Ourna stood next to him with crossed arms, looking in the same direction critically. “She's albino, Trey. Probably blind and weak legged. To her own devices, she'll probably not live. Father always said you had a bad eye for them.”
The smile vanished off of Tremaen's face and his voice took a defensive edge. “Well, he let me choose despite that, didn't he, and agreed to train her? I'll see to it that she wins every race at festival…for years to come.”
“It's not races I'm concerned about. I'm worried about one of my lieutenants losing his horse at the wrong moment to a broken leg.” Tremaen found himself rolling his eyes at Ourna. Her life had become so centered around the militia since she took the reins two years before, it was as if she saw everything through that window.
“I won't,” he replied with finality. With any luck, he added to himself.
He heard Ourna sigh and then say, with some balming quality to her voice, “Have you named her?”
Tremaen smiled to himself. From captain back to friend. May it always be so. “Winterwind.” Turning his head, he caught Ourna smiling softly at him.
“Pretty. Let's put some money on her living up to her name, hum?” She grinned. “Against my Starspell and Jiulan's Moonsong?”
He grinned right back at her. “Done.”
She took on a haughty stance, then ruined it by wrinkling up her nose. “Oh yes, we'll see which yearling will be wearing the festival garland.” There wasn't even a suggestion that any other horse would win. Master Mehtar's war bloods always took the day.
“Ah, so you're taking part this year, are you?” Something thrilled in Tremaen.
Ourna shrugged, looking back out on the horses. “For the races.” She barked out a laugh at herself. “For all my big talk, I do want to try Starspell. From the feast on, I'm on duty.”
Rolling his eyes, Tremaen shot her a look. “Oh, gods forbid Torves Ourna enjoy herself a bit.”
She made a face right back at him. “A bunch of people getting drunk, rowdy, and randy. Breaking out in fights and making messes. Sicking up behind a tree. Getting propositioned right and left. Yeah, sounds like great fun.” Many matches were made at the festival, above all else, it's why people went.
He shot her a rakish grin in return, hoping it wasn't forced. “It surely is.”
“Someone's got to keep it from getting out of hand, and that someone is me and the scant volunteers I can get. I guess it's no use in asking you to help keep some order.”
He just shrugged. “You know, it would help with the rumors. Last I heard, you were one of those that looked at other women. Hasn't outpaced the ones about you and Jiulan doing those…” He started his best imitation of a gossiping harpy. “…unnatural things they do in the Realm.” He threw up his hands. “Because he's always right there with you.”
Ourna made a disgusted noise. “You can't tell me you believe any of that.”Immediately, he regretted bringing up those things whispered in some corners. “No, no, not at all. I know better.”
She grinned a little and nudged him in the side with her elbow, the way he'd seen her do with Jiulan a hundred times. “I'm still hearing I'm one of your flipskirts. How many have fallen to your pretty face in rumor?” He crossed his arms and sniffed. “And I happen to know how much of that is true, Trey.”
He felt his cheeks color a bit, retorting a bit more sharply than intended, “I'm just trying to expand your definition of life beyond horses, orders and shooting things with arrows. I don't mean to imply you should become a flipskirt or do anything like that, really.” He hated sometimes that she knew the things he did, and hated that he was too much of a coward to explain why he did them.
“I know.” Ourna sighed. “But the militia is still a mess. I'm fighting for it every day. I've got so much work to do with that and the farm.” She looked up briefly. “I'm sure you'll find someone to raise a house with, or whatever it is that you're looking for. I'm just not interested in those things. I've got some business to take care of, so I'll see you soon.”
Tremaen nodded, softening his stiff posture a little when she pecked him on the cheek. He watched her walk away for a stretched moment before pounding the corral fence with his fist. “Yeah, I know you're not interested in those things,” he muttered through his teeth.