Reserved for Billiam
Felicia loved the first days of spring.
Like nearly everything living (so to speak) on the Penbrook Estate, the horses had gotten used to the dark; the cold, however, affected them just as much as the rest of their species. Which meant winter made riding difficult.
But spring, ah, when everything was wet with the thaw, and bright and cold and new -- the great beasts were as keen to run as Felicia, their most frequent visitor.
The rest of the horses stamped their impatience as the Ancient returned from her ride, walking her favorite, a blue roan quarter horse named Quinn, back into her stall. The stablehands rose from their chairs with a practiced carelessness, moving to relieve the tired animal of the trappings of riding. Her rider, however, looked fresh as a daisy, her cheeks colored pink with another's blood, the product of the chill wind whipping past her skin. The smell of fresh mud and alfalfa hay clung to her skin as much as it did to her horse's.
But there was someone else waiting for her in the stables, and she regarded him coolly as she tugged off her kidskin gloves, finger by finger. A smile touched the corner of her rose-petal mouth. He'd caught her in the best possible mood, "Brother," she greeted as she approached.