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[013] OOM - Towards the Light of the Inn
May. 12th, 2007 01:17 amSeeing the illumination from the inn fills Tristran with a feeling of happiness and wonderfulness he hasn't felt in a really long while -- not since he'd left Wall so many days ago, and perhaps even the coziness of Milliways, all distant memories now.
The carriage pulls up to the little cottage-like building, and while Tristran immediately begins to unhitch the horses (which he knows must be absolutely exhausted), leading them one by one towards the stables located on the side of the inn, Primus bellows for assistance.
There is a white horse, asleep in the furthest stall, but Tristran is far too busy with other things to pause and inspect it -- the horses are obviously tired and hungry. Even moreso than he is. Anything else can wait.
"I'll groom the horses," he tells Primus. "They'll catch a chill otherwise."
The tall man rests one large hand on Tristran's shoulder, a quiet and subtle smile reaching his face. "Good lad," he says, "I'll send a potboy out with some burnt ale for you."
Tristran nods before Primus disappears, no doubt to organize the details of their lodging, thinking distantly of the star as he brushes down the horses and picks out their hooves. Somehow, in the same strange way he seems to know directions and distances of things he had never seen before in his life, he knows that the star is close by -- he'll see her soon. The thought alone is a conflicting one, bringing both comfort and a sense of nervousness (though he isn't sure why). Once they are reunited, what will he say? What will she say?
His thought is interrupted by the silent entrance of a potgirl, carrying a tankard of steaming wine. "Put it down over there," he tells her. "I'll drink it with goodwill as soon as my hands are free."
The girl obeys, placing it upon the top of a tack box before leaving just as silently. Tristran doesn't have a chance to ponder the girl's silence before the horse in the end stall begins to kick against the door, nearly making the young man jump in his spot.
"Settle down, there," he calls. "Settle down, fellow, and I'll see if I cannot find warm oats and bran for all of you."
Tristran finds a large stone in the stallion's front inside hoof, and with care, he begins to remove it, his thoughts straying back to the star.
Madam -- this is how he thinks he might very well start off their conversation -- please accept my heartfelt and most humble apologies.
Yes ... it sounds polite. Proper. And of course, she would respond with something like, Sir, that I shall do with all my heart. Now let us go to your village, where you shall present me to your true love, as a token of your devotion to her --
There is more clattering -- louder and more powerful this time -- from the end stall with the white horse. Except, Tristran realizes quite immediately, that it is not a horse at all but a ... monster! Or some great beast coming to charge after him, horn lowered. Instinctively, Tristran throws himself down into the straw by the floor, covering his head with his arms, waiting in frozen patience for a moment before slowly looking up. The monster is no monster at all, and is in fact a unicorn.
Tristran watches, slowly getting to his feet, as the unicorn stops before the tankard and lowers its horn into the mulled wine, still steaming and bubbling. And it occurs to him then as he studies the white beast (from some long-forgotten fairytale or a piece of children's lore) that a unicorn's horn is proof against...
"Poison?" he whispers, eyes widening a bit. His heart is pounding in his chest as the unicorn raises its head, looking into his eyes, even through him. No, it...can't be.
Tristran runs towards the stable door, then freezing in his tracks, he pauses for a moment. He fumbles quickly in his pocket, looking for something in particular. From his right pocket, he pulls out the lump of wax (which is all that remains of the rather sad, pathetic candle) and the dried copper leaf which sticks to it. Peeling it from the wax carefully, he takes in a breath, and raises it to his ear.
The carriage pulls up to the little cottage-like building, and while Tristran immediately begins to unhitch the horses (which he knows must be absolutely exhausted), leading them one by one towards the stables located on the side of the inn, Primus bellows for assistance.
There is a white horse, asleep in the furthest stall, but Tristran is far too busy with other things to pause and inspect it -- the horses are obviously tired and hungry. Even moreso than he is. Anything else can wait.
"I'll groom the horses," he tells Primus. "They'll catch a chill otherwise."
The tall man rests one large hand on Tristran's shoulder, a quiet and subtle smile reaching his face. "Good lad," he says, "I'll send a potboy out with some burnt ale for you."
Tristran nods before Primus disappears, no doubt to organize the details of their lodging, thinking distantly of the star as he brushes down the horses and picks out their hooves. Somehow, in the same strange way he seems to know directions and distances of things he had never seen before in his life, he knows that the star is close by -- he'll see her soon. The thought alone is a conflicting one, bringing both comfort and a sense of nervousness (though he isn't sure why). Once they are reunited, what will he say? What will she say?
His thought is interrupted by the silent entrance of a potgirl, carrying a tankard of steaming wine. "Put it down over there," he tells her. "I'll drink it with goodwill as soon as my hands are free."
The girl obeys, placing it upon the top of a tack box before leaving just as silently. Tristran doesn't have a chance to ponder the girl's silence before the horse in the end stall begins to kick against the door, nearly making the young man jump in his spot.
"Settle down, there," he calls. "Settle down, fellow, and I'll see if I cannot find warm oats and bran for all of you."
Tristran finds a large stone in the stallion's front inside hoof, and with care, he begins to remove it, his thoughts straying back to the star.
Madam -- this is how he thinks he might very well start off their conversation -- please accept my heartfelt and most humble apologies.
Yes ... it sounds polite. Proper. And of course, she would respond with something like, Sir, that I shall do with all my heart. Now let us go to your village, where you shall present me to your true love, as a token of your devotion to her --
There is more clattering -- louder and more powerful this time -- from the end stall with the white horse. Except, Tristran realizes quite immediately, that it is not a horse at all but a ... monster! Or some great beast coming to charge after him, horn lowered. Instinctively, Tristran throws himself down into the straw by the floor, covering his head with his arms, waiting in frozen patience for a moment before slowly looking up. The monster is no monster at all, and is in fact a unicorn.
Tristran watches, slowly getting to his feet, as the unicorn stops before the tankard and lowers its horn into the mulled wine, still steaming and bubbling. And it occurs to him then as he studies the white beast (from some long-forgotten fairytale or a piece of children's lore) that a unicorn's horn is proof against...
"Poison?" he whispers, eyes widening a bit. His heart is pounding in his chest as the unicorn raises its head, looking into his eyes, even through him. No, it...can't be.
Tristran runs towards the stable door, then freezing in his tracks, he pauses for a moment. He fumbles quickly in his pocket, looking for something in particular. From his right pocket, he pulls out the lump of wax (which is all that remains of the rather sad, pathetic candle) and the dried copper leaf which sticks to it. Peeling it from the wax carefully, he takes in a breath, and raises it to his ear.
