As it turned out, the draught horse shared my reluctance to return to the rain. But through some combination of stroking, soft words and bribing with sweet treats, Kete managed to get it moving. As we stepped out the first gust cut through any foolish hope that my jerkin would offer any meaningful protection from the chill. It was awful, invigorating, and very, very, wet. My heart pounded as wordlessly we rushed through muddy streets past construction sites covered in tarps. The rain pelted down and ricocheted up from turbid puddles, soaking me through in an instant. Their panoramic percussion a backdrop to the howling wind. Builders dashed in and out of cover, lashing things down as gales blew them free, but I could barely give them any mind as a particularly strong gust almost knocked me off my feet. How someone had driven a carriage in this I had no idea.

We quickly reached the military section of the outpost and a pair of stoic guards waved us through after confirming our identities. The tell-tale glow of a fire poured from a nearby structure they no doubt wished they could return to as they stood resolutely under a small overhang. I could only hope as I heard muffled chatter from inside that they were being swapped out regularly.

Thankfully Kete seemed to know exactly where he was going. Approaching a large wooden structure, the whinnying of other mounts disturbed by the storm became just barely audible over the howling wind. A moment later we were under blessed cover.

An impressive array of stalls lined out before us, the closest ones filled with leaner, sleeker steeds than the bulky draught horse that accompanied us. A soldier in a nearby stall who had been soothing a troubled horse looked to our dripping forms, recognition quickly forming on his face.

"Kete? Here te help us out?"

"This lass here threw a shoe, gotta fix that first, but I'll do what I can while I'm here." He kept leading me further into the structure, seemingly immune to the chill as I shivered.

"Thanks, much appreciated. We've got the forge lit already, takes the edge off the chill. Can't do much better in a space as large as this, but it should help dry you out some. Just keep goin' te the end of the stalls and you can't miss it."

Kete gave him a quick nod of thanks and kept leading us forward. I offered a quick bow – unsure of his rank and more concerned about feeling warm and dry again – before hurrying after. Now that I knew what to look for, the far end of the stables was better lit and the relative warmth more than just the absence of windchill. The stalls ended in a small open area where the dinky little forge came into view. Only then was the comforting scent of burning coal noticeable over the aroma of wet horse.

A selection of horseshoes lined the wall behind the forge and a small anvil rested beside it with a few tools. The hammer, tongs and steel file were all familiar, a large set of clippers threw me for a moment, but the slowly tapering metal spike looked downright ominous. Perhaps some sort of odd poker? Nope, the poker had fallen by the forge. Given the well contained blaze reacquainting me with the concept of heat, it had probably fallen the last time the soldier hastily stoked the flame. Pritchel. The word came unbidden as I picked up the odd spike, now noticing the point was oddly rounded.

"You good there Vaul? Got everything ya need?"

Kete's voice snapped me out of my near trance evaluating the tools. He had acquired a large brush and tapped the horse's rear leg. As if by reflex, the horse lifted that hoof, and with complete confidence his hand shot out to support it before he deftly flipped round to hold it between his thighs.

"Yeah, just need... Ah, there they are, nails. I take it you've done this before? I knew you had a knack with animals, but that was smooth."

A handful of fervent brushstrokes cleared the worst of the mud and Kete was scrutinising the unshod hoof as he responded.

"Knack? Nah, like most beastmaster types I use bond. Never had an equine myself, but checked out plenty over the years. Good skill te have, but it's only goin' so smooth because she's bein' a good sport about it. First time I tried somethin' like this I was green as grass and broke a couple ribs."

"Oof, hopefully you can help me avoid that particular experience. Also, is bond a resource? What about knack?"

He gave me a quick look before turning back to the hoof in front of him, "Argat hasn't gotten that far yet? I suppose there's a lot te cover and he's the type te make sure ye have a firm grasp of the fundamentals first."

He went quiet for a moment, brows furrowed staring at the hoof, before muttering softly, "The frog looks healthy but might as well even things up a bit..."

He pulled a small thin knife that lacked a point but instead the end curled around to face towards the handle then began carefully carving out slivers of the hoof revealing pristine white beneath as he continued at a normal volume.

"I'm not going to stick my oar into Argat's lessons, he knows his stuff, but I can tell ya a little about me. Bond is a dual resource. I can't tell ya what it's limits are, but it helps me form connections with animals. It let me make friends with this lady here quicker, learn if they feel something is wrong, that sorta thing. I can do some more interestin' stuff with my longer-term companions, but the heart of it is still the same, forming a connection. To do that you've gotta care. That's where most people lookin' for an animal companion come a cropper, they want a weapon, not a friend." He scrutinised the hoof and I noted the triangular shape near the back did look more even now he was finished with it. "Could ya pass the nippers?"

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Caught off guard I glanced around, my gaze landing on the set of clippers by the forge. They seemed to have exceptionally long handles compared to the extremely short length on the other side of the joint, so I supposed nippers fit.

"These?"

"Aye"

With practiced movement he snipped into a raised rim at the leading edge of the hoof. The material cracking as he gave it a slight shake before repeating the process at two other points along the edge, a thin crescent of hoof material cracking free. Once again revealing pristine white beneath.

"Rasp." He held a hand out expectantly.

I'd been wondering why the steel file was present and dutifully passed it to him. Rough edges from the shoes would have been removed long before they reached here, this set-up focused on fitting rather than creation. A few confident strokes from Kete around the edge of the hoof removed any sharp edges and helped ensure a flat surface. Kete took a beat and evaluated his work contentedly.

"Welp, not like it needed too much doin' to it, but it should be good to go. You ready for your part?"

Wincing I realised I'd been caught up in his actions and the conversation.

"Just give me a second, I'll check the size of shoe."

I trusted my ability to eyeball a pretty close match, but there was no reason not to double check. Despite the selection, none of them seemed quite right so I'd have to make some adjustments. Picking up the pritchel by instinct, I noted there were small holes in some of the horse shoes I'd assumed were for nails. These without them had dents in similar spots where the metal was thinner. Looking towards the forge I noted it didn't have a hardy hole but did have a much smaller hole offset from the centre that I felt was connected. Still, might as well keep it simple for this outing.

Spotting a shoe of close enough size with holes already punched, I stabbed the pritchel towards one of the holes, wedging it on the end to pick it up. The whole motion felt far smoother than it ought to be, and I was weirdly confident that the shoe was the right mix of secure enough but easy to deliberately dislodge. Lifting it over beside the hoof confirmed my suspicions, it was just a little too wide. So, I plunged it into the flames.

Not letting it get too hot, not even beginning to truly glow I shifted the shoe to the anvil and gave a few decisive blows from the hammer, careful to curve each side inward equally. Raising it near the hoof once more (though careful not to touch), I gave a pleased smile to see it looked perfect. Then trepidation set in. My instincts were telling me the temperature was perfect. Cool enough there was no visible sign the metal was even hot, yet I knew it could blacken wood. I didn't want to risk hurting this horse.

"What are ya waitin' for? Press it against the hoof!"

Like a switch was flipped I complied. Only to want to flinch away as steam started to rise, but Kete kept talking and my instincts agreed.

"A little longer, nearly there. Now! Get the nails."

Almost unconsciously I disconnected the pritchel, the shoe staying in place. I pulled a square nail and positioned it in one of the holes in the shoe, three precise blows hammered it flat to the shoe. A second nail went in the opposite side, two blows did it this time. The shoe had eight holes, but once I filled six a feeling of contentment washed over me. Kete seemed to agree letting the hoof drop.

"Fine work as usual Vaul." He said examining how the horse stood on the hoof and I noted the tips of the nails were protruding from the side of the hoof as it sloped. Strangely I felt calm, and Kete nonchalantly raised the nippers and snipped off most of the protrusions. "There, now we just cinch them, I'll give it a final go over with the rasp, and we'll be done."

With sudden clarity as Kete had the horse raise its hoof once more, this time onto a small stump, I stood ready with the hammer. He carefully carved tiny grooves below the remaining nub of each nail and with a few meticulous, low power hammer strikes I bent the nub to sit within the groove. Once it was completed for all six, he moved the rasp across the outside of the hoof in wide motions before stepping back and turning to me.

"I know today's busy, but could you hold on while I check the other couple of hooves? She doesn't feel anything wrong but best to check after conditions like that."

I chuckled, "Spend a little longer in the warm rather than rushing out into that again? Consider me convinced."

It got a chuckle from the grizzled adventurer too, so I guess maybe the rain bothered him more than he let on.

"Thanks, this'll just take a moment."

"No problem. While we're here, I intended to ask, why aren't more adventurers riding out the storm in the dungeon? Avoiding the weather and making some coin seems like a win-win?"

"Some are. A few young ones had the same idea, even figured turning up to the dungeon soaked would help them deal with the heat." Kete said brushing mud off another hoof. "Unfortunately, it ain't that simple. While dungeons are a separate realm from the world outside, big events near their entrance can mess with the dungeon. While we've got a storm out here, inside the dungeon is a sand storm."

"Damn, that's a problem."

"It is and it isn't. Sure, a sandstorm is rough, but consider, the best loot and path to the next floor lie within ruins hidden by the shifting sands."

"You think more of them will be accessible?"

"Might be." He said with a grin.

"Seems like a lot of risk for a maybe?"

"For adventurers, risk and reward go hand in hand. Gotta learn which ones are worth taking, but if you don't take any you'll never make it. Most groups are waiting for the storm to start to peter out before rushing in."

"Smart, minimise risk while maximising reward."

"Aye. But that means we're stuck with a bunch of bored adventurers cooped up in the guild ready to rush off to violence at a moment's notice. There'll be plenty of jobs to keep the vets busy, but there's not much we can do with the newbies until the storm lets up. Still, mark my words if this goes on till tomorrow the guildmaster will cook up something to blow off everyone's steam. We've also gotta come down hard on anyone causin' trouble, can't have them settin' everyone else off."

"I'll keep an eye out, though I've gotta admit I'll be relying on the rest of you if something does happen."

"That's fine, that's what we're here for. If it comes to it the soldiers will - " His jovial face turned thunderous and he took off sprinting, calling over his shoulder. "Gotta go. Some jackass just kicked my dog."