apples, you know. I don’t suppose you have any?>
I checked the provisions and found a significant store of apples in one of the saddle bags. I removed one and offered it to Apple Jack.
he said, taking it from my fingers with his lips and then crunching down.
Well, it depends on what scares you. I can’t commit to a blanket statement like that. What if you get scared by the scent of an attractive woman?
Goibhniu has trained you very well.
I’ll bet he did.
I threw my leg over Apple Jack, gathered the reins, and gave him a friendly slap or two on the neck.
Let us sally forth, my good horse! Follow the road west. To danger and glory!
Danger and glory? No. I was being dramatic.
Point taken.
We plodded forward because one does not trot, canter, or even manage a respectable walk in such weather. In less than a mile, however, the character of the rain changed. Instead of a proper downpour with respectable drops, it became a splattery, aggressive mist that couldn’t decide which direction to fall. It whipped me in the face from both directions and did its best to fall into my ears and leap up into my nostrils. It argued with cold, implacable determination that there was no clothing I could wear that would allow me to be even mildly comfortable. And something else happened in terms of pressure; my ears popped. We must be under the fog that Ogma had mentioned.
The temperature dropped as well and the trees along the road did not seem to be the sort that would hide a band of merry men. They rather offered a surplus of gloom and rot underneath their canopies. The sky was nothing but a diluted wash of ink, gray swirling brushstrokes of moisture. I felt miserable and unwelcome and began to wonder if I had made an imprudent decision. Apple Jack expressed similar sentiments. Repeatedly. We were slowly turning into frozen avatars of anxiety. Dreadsicles. Doompops.
The forest rustled at nightfall. Growls from predators and shrieks from prey were followed by cracks and wet squelching noises and very loud chewing sounds. I built us a makeshift shelter between two trees, binding fallen branches into a rough roof that bridged the gap and kept off the worst of the rain.
Apple Jack asked.
This will do just as well
, I said, building a fire underneath the roof.
I’ve asked the local elemental to keep the hungry animals at bay. Now all you have to worry about are unnatural predators.
Ghosts. Witches. Goblins. The usual.
Apple Jack tossed his head and stamped nervously.
Hey, calm down—
Settle down! There aren’t any goblins! I was only joking!
Apple Jack’s ears flattened against his head and he showed me his teeth.
Sorry. I know it’s spooky out there but we’re not in terrible peril yet. I’m sure that’s a few days down the road at least.
I got him a couple of apples and a bag of oats to atone for my teasing and I spent some time brushing him down. I told him the legend of the Fine Filly Fionnait, the white mare of Munster, and that comforted him enough so that we could both
I checked the provisions and found a significant store of apples in one of the saddle bags. I removed one and offered it to Apple Jack.
Well, it depends on what scares you. I can’t commit to a blanket statement like that. What if you get scared by the scent of an attractive woman?
Goibhniu has trained you very well.
I’ll bet he did.
I threw my leg over Apple Jack, gathered the reins, and gave him a friendly slap or two on the neck.
Let us sally forth, my good horse! Follow the road west. To danger and glory!
Danger and glory? No. I was being dramatic.
Point taken.
We plodded forward because one does not trot, canter, or even manage a respectable walk in such weather. In less than a mile, however, the character of the rain changed. Instead of a proper downpour with respectable drops, it became a splattery, aggressive mist that couldn’t decide which direction to fall. It whipped me in the face from both directions and did its best to fall into my ears and leap up into my nostrils. It argued with cold, implacable determination that there was no clothing I could wear that would allow me to be even mildly comfortable. And something else happened in terms of pressure; my ears popped. We must be under the fog that Ogma had mentioned.
The temperature dropped as well and the trees along the road did not seem to be the sort that would hide a band of merry men. They rather offered a surplus of gloom and rot underneath their canopies. The sky was nothing but a diluted wash of ink, gray swirling brushstrokes of moisture. I felt miserable and unwelcome and began to wonder if I had made an imprudent decision. Apple Jack expressed similar sentiments. Repeatedly. We were slowly turning into frozen avatars of anxiety. Dreadsicles. Doompops.
The forest rustled at nightfall. Growls from predators and shrieks from prey were followed by cracks and wet squelching noises and very loud chewing sounds. I built us a makeshift shelter between two trees, binding fallen branches into a rough roof that bridged the gap and kept off the worst of the rain.
This will do just as well
, I said, building a fire underneath the roof.
I’ve asked the local elemental to keep the hungry animals at bay. Now all you have to worry about are unnatural predators.
Ghosts. Witches. Goblins. The usual.
Hey, calm down—
Settle down! There aren’t any goblins! I was only joking!
Apple Jack’s ears flattened against his head and he showed me his teeth.
Sorry. I know it’s spooky out there but we’re not in terrible peril yet. I’m sure that’s a few days down the road at least.
I got him a couple of apples and a bag of oats to atone for my teasing and I spent some time brushing him down. I told him the legend of the Fine Filly Fionnait, the white mare of Munster, and that comforted him enough so that we could both
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