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 Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2013 7:02 am
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Posted: Thu Jan 17, 2013 7:08 am
snow
location ennisfree, lord kinross' estate in wellisbury
time winter, near the solstice
summary idriss brightens jordun's mood “I am not interested in your ineptitude, boy,” Lord Kinross snapped. Barely had the doors shut behind Jordun when his father’s voice rang out strict and disapproving from the depths of the hall-like room he called a study. Oban Kinross had a voice that could boom out across a vast field to reach the ears of hundreds of cheering men. Today, as on many days, that voice was directed ruthlessly at his younger son because today, as on many days, Jordun Kinross had failed. “I will be feasting the Viscount of Ranther in a fortnight, and we will have the head of a ten-point buck resting above the fireplace in the grand hall. You will use this opportunity to prove yourself only half as worthless as you really are, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Jordun’s gaze swept restlessly from one side of the room to the next, landing everywhere but on his father. Outside, the snow drifts piled high against the latticed floor-to-ceiling windows, forming gentle slopes up along the glass. There must have been four or five feet of snow piled outside, but Jordun’s face had flamed so hot he thought he might have melted those drifts with ease.
The worthlessness to which Oban referred was, in all likelihood, Jordun’s adamant passion for all things his lord father deemed unlordly and his equally adamant inability to be even moderately skilled in all things his lord father deemed lordly. He was an avid writer and skilled with a brush, but Oban had forbidden the latter under his roof under the pretext that if he had wanted a painter’s son, he would have fished one out of the rabble on the street. Jordun also thought he might have made a wonderful chef, but his father had taken preemptive measures to disallow him to use the kitchens for anything other than eating, and he had never found the courage to defy those bans. The nervousness his father instilled in him was unique and so overpowering that some days, he wondered that he hadn’t curled up like a fetus and shivered pathetically on the spotless carpets.
He must have so lost control of his emotions that he had accidentally projected some of them to Idriss – which he hadn’t done since they were both much younger – for the next moment, he found himself staring at the image of a wall of white, crumbling and cold and soft to the touch. Jordun blinked.
Driss… what are you doing?
Then, out of nowhere, a familiar-looking head peeked out of the snow drifts, piled so high against the study window. The doe’s pale pink eyes danced with mirth as she perked her soft white ears and smushed her wiggling nose against the window. The crumbling snow formed a lopsided peak atop her forehead, giving her an odd sort of hat to help brave the winter outside. She had come to rescue him! A stealth mission, if he pleased, and one that involved any sort of rescue possible, be it of the mind (through entertainment) or the body (through some sort of break-in or other; Idriss hadn’t quite ironed out the details). The doe looked so pleased that she had found him at all in the vast first story of the mansion that Jordun had to stifle a laugh, quashing his sudden amusement as best he could.
It was not easy to fool his father, however. “Are you amused, sir?” Lord Kinross barked. “Could you possibly be pleased that you are of no use to me or your brother in your current state of continued failure? Your record for it is unbroken, let me remind you.”
“No, no, my lord, not at all,” Jordun replied hastily. In a split second, the briefly banished fear had returned, as well as all the reminders that he simply wasn’t a good enough son for his father. Idriss reacted instantly to the shift, and it took all his will to ignore the rapid-fire images she began to project to him, comic caricatures of the room and his father as seen through her eyes. As if that hadn’t been enough, she stood half-buried in the snow just outside, tail waggling and making what could only be called faces in the window.
“Well, then, clearly the outside world is more intriguing to you than I, despite your numerous failures outside the walls of this house.” His father began to turn to the window in a rage, as if to demonstrate a point.
“No! No, I was simply reflecting. If it please my lord father, I will retire to my chambers to correct my ways.” He all but leaped from the chair and made for the door. Get out before he sees you! He chanced a glance over his shoulder, just in time to see the doe’s head disappear with a small puff of snow.
He left the study grinning, in spite of himself and lingering concerns of his incompetence. There was no helping it. Idriss was still sending him images, frame after frame of a long, unchanging tunnel of snow that she had burrowed herself into, presumably just for the sake of it. You can stop being cute, Driss. I feel better already, don’t you worry about me. But she didn’t, of course. She wouldn’t until she was absolutely sure he wasn’t just trying to reassure her.
And tonight, at least, he could rest easy knowing that they had escaped a close call. All these years they had been together, he had managed to keep Idriss’ existence a secret from his father. In that, at least, Jordun had succeeded.
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Posted: Fri Jul 05, 2013 3:06 am
the leathermaker
location ennisfree, lord kinross' estate in wellisbury
time winter
summary jordun and idriss visit the leathermaker for a custom saddle The pages lay strewn across the ground in the barn where Jordun Kinross sat studying them with keen concentration. On the paper he had drawn detailed sketches of an odd-looking saddle, too small for a horse but too large for anything else. Lightweight detachable saddlebags sat at the rear of the saddle and a breast strap sat at the front to stabilize the contraption on a flat back.
Before long, the silence was broken by the appearance of a white doe, which peeked around the barn door and then danced in with a happy jaunt in her step.
"Good morning, Driss," Jordun greeted his Guardian while she snuffled at the pages. He had spent the past week making measurements and designing the saddle to suit her perfectly. They had been waiting for the opportune moment to make the trip to the leathermaker in town, and now that his father was away on business, their window of opportunity had opened. "Time for a walk, I think."
The dainty doe lifted her head and flashed what Jordun could swear was a smile. She was as excited as he was, if not more. Having a real saddle would make riding easier for both of them and would reinforce in her Chosen the fact that yes, they did have to ride together more often. With a quick wave of her tail, she spun and bounded for the barn door.
The walk into town was short, but the brisk weather and both Guardian and Chosen panting by the time they arrived. Winter snows had piled up 12 inches over the last week, but the well was crowded as always and the welcome sound of old wives' chatter reached his ears long before he reached the town center.
"Good morning, Mrs. Arball," he greeted as he passed a cluster of women on his way into the leather shop. A chorus of "G'morning, milord!" sounded in return, followed by the ooohs and ahhs that Idriss had long since grown accustomed to. She would have scampered over for pats and attention, but Jordun stopped her with a thought. Business first, Driss.
He pushed open the door of the leathermaker's shop, in which a cozy fire blazed. A shaggy ginger-colored dog rose stiffly from the fireplace to investigate them with clouded eyes that made it look as old and wise as its kindly master.
"'Nough o' that now, Sounder, don't be chasin' away milord," the leathermaker said, squinting up from his work. Despite his age, his voice was still strong and his hands as skilled as ever. The dog returned to the fireplace and sat down heavily.
"He isn't a bother, Mr. Morrow," Jordun reassured the old man. "My lady is quite partial to dogs."
"Ah yes," the leathermaker said, putting down the leather he had been cutting. "Miss Idriss, I remember." A wistful smiled crossed his face as he admired the doe. "I imagine you're here to have something made for her, milord."
Jordun nodded, pulling the sketched pages from his pocket. "Right as always, Mr. Morrow," he said as he laid them down on the desk for the old man to study. "A saddle of sorts, but something soft and malleable. Lightweight, I would say, and easy to fit." Nothing like the stiff saddles used on horses.
The leathermaker peered down the the pages with his glasses. "Something that will fold around her then," he said. "Something to allow more movement than a regular saddle."
Jordun nodded in agreement. "It's quite important that this saddle does not impeded any signals I can give her. We won't be riding with a bridle."
"But you want to anchor your legs."
"Yes. For a better seat only, nothing else."
The leathermaker nodded. "I have just the leather for this, milord."
Jordun smiled. "Wonderful. I leave in a fortnight for Palisade. Will it be finished in time?"
"Long before, milord. I'll have it done afore the week's over, and your pretty doe will have it in time for this journey north."
The idea was tantalizing. The long ride to Palisade would be the perfect opportunity to become more accustomed to Idriss' strides. They were so different from those of a horse that riding her felt like learning how to ride all over again. And he had never been particularly skilled on horseback. Still, what little practice he had had with horses seemed to help with his progress on Idriss and it was becoming less and less odd to feel her movement under his seat.
"Thank you, Mr. Morrow. Now if I could ask you to simply bill me and not my father..."
The leathermaker nodded in comprehension. "The things he doesn't know, eh, milord?"
Jordun had to smile. "Indeed, sir. The many things he doesn't know."
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