e_delmar | (no subject)

Boukephalos knows his way through the forest paths, and around the long sloping shoreline. He's wandered them often, these many months, alone or with a rider.

This might be why River, face tipped up to the sky, seems entirely comfortable letting him pick his way across the lawn at a lazy amble. With her eyes closed.

Could be Ennis notices right away, could be he's caught up in thought or something like it and it's a few minutes before he sees her. Either way, he watches as the horse moves, strong and smooth and beautiful, and River no less so on his back.

Her head is tilted a little to the side, and her hands wound loosely through the black mane at the stallion's withers. A scattering of wrens explode from a bush, darting overhead; Boukephalos doesn't twitch, but River's head turns to follow their flight, and she smiles, her eyes still shut.

Can't help but smile, looking at her smile like that, and he can feel the sun on his face, leaning back like that. He doesn't take the cigarette out of his mouth, but speaks around it as he watches her.

"Always ride like that?"

Cheerfully, "Sometimes."

It's a long moment later that she opens her eyes just enough to glance at him sidelong. She's still smiling, and the sun warms her upturned face.

He watches, still, as the smoke from his cigarette curls up and around his face.

"Sometimes it rains." This is a sequitur in River's head, anyway.

It's hard to see whether River's given a signal to Boukephalos or not, but either way the stallion changes direction slightly to stroll towards the big glacial rock.

"Sometimes it does."

And even if it ain't quite such an obvious sequitur in Ennis', he agrees with it and leans back on his elbows, not really gathering the energy to think too much on it.

Satisfied, she settles back to toy with Boukephalos's mane, focusing on the coarse strands of hair sliding between her fingers, until he halts next to the rock and bends to sniff at it.

Ennis can't quite reach out and touch the horse, but he gives it a go, leaning on his right side now. He squints up against the light, hand waving through the air and coming back just to ash his cigarette.

Boukephalos eyes Ennis's hand as it moves, and then stretches his neck to give it a perfunctory sniff, with the air of a king deigning to grant a favor.

River grins down at his withers, which may or may not be connected.

Cigarette ashed, he looks out over the lake, all the while giving the perception of looking at the horse.

"She treat you right?"

"Reciprocity," River informs him, faintly indignant. "I said."

Boukephalos snorts, and twists around to lip at her foot.

"Hrm?"

Ennis asks, though there's something of a light chuckle under it all.

"Yes."

This, River's demeanor says, ought to clear everything up.

Right. Of course it does.

...only not at all. Which is why Ennis just shakes his head and sighs.

River rolls her eyes, the very picture of a teenager being Very Tolerant Indeed of a slow adult.

She slips off Boukephalos's back to land lightly in the grass, and leans companionably against the horse's flank. He nuzzles at her hands, even as he rolls a suspicious eye towards Ennis.

Ennis shifts a bit to his left, and holds his hand out again, this time within reach.

"Nice out."

"It's spring," River informs him happily. If obviously.

Boukephalos gives his hand another perfunctory sniff and, finding no treats hiding in it, decides to ignore Ennis in favor of the grass.

"He's a curmudgeon," says River fondly, and drops to sit on the edge of the rock and run her hands over its surface.

"Noticed."

And maybe it should strike Ennis that that doesn't really surprise him, all things considered, but he doesn't say nothing of the sort.

There's a long pause as he stubs out his cigarette and stretches, long legs unfolding in front of him.

"Back home, the streams'd be running."

River glances at him. Listening.

"Everything freezes up but good, come winter. Spring comes, and there's the thaw."

He's looking at her, but he's seeing the mountains, the lakes, the fields.

"Seasonal regeneration," River says, and smiles a little.

"Watch out for the floods."

"Ain't none of that here."

He says it, and maybe that's part of the problem.

River studies him for a moment, before she says quietly, "There's water."

"Differentiate the configurations. Doesn't change the substrate."