Anfer had worked very hard to get Wriva a starting job as a stable hand. The master of stables, Axel, wasn’t against it himself, but he had really wanted to hire someone who could handle the royal stables–not a new hand who was so young. Chrys had pulled a few strings as well, nudging him to at least give her a try.

Wriva woke early in the morning, before the sun had risen, and quickly dressed. The house was quiet, but when she lit the kitchen light her father was waiting for her. “Dad!” She jumped with surprise.

“Did you think I would let you start your first day without sending you off?” He smirked, and enveloped her in a large hug.

“It’ll be fine,” she smiled back, and grabbed some breakfast to eat on the way.

Anfer waved, and mumbled, “I hope so,” to himself as Wriva set off for the fields.

The sun started to rise: light shining through the forest, trees casting long shadows on the ground, tinting everything a shade of pinkish purple. Wriva made her way through the village quickly, ignoring the vendors setting up for the day. It was common for the stable workers to start work before the rest of the village was up and running; animals don’t wait. When she arrived at the barn, she was surprised to find no one there.

Something fell to the ground with a loud clunk somewhere behind the stable. She poked her head around the barn, and jumped back when she and Axel nearly collided as he rounded the corner. “Oh!” She stammered out. “I…I didn’t see ya there.”

Axel’s mouth drew into a thin line as his eyes narrowed. He simply grunted, shoved his supplies into her hands, and returned to the shed behind the barn for more. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, then followed him. Axel jumped in surprise, nearly dropping his tools, when he spun around and Wriva was right behind him.

“Ah, sorry, I d—I dunno what to do.”

“That’s a rake for the stalls,” he grunted. “Go clean them.”

“Aye,” she began, “wouldn’t you like me to turn out the harts first? The far field seemed a little bare when I passed it this morning, would the mid or fore fields work?”

Axel blinked in surprise. She was…much more eager than he had anticipated her to be. “Turn them out into the middle fields. Leave the blue one alone.”

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Wriva nodded in affirmation, and set off to turn out her charges. She opened each gate in turn, leading them into the run that would spit them out in the mid fields. Young foals burst through the gates, seeming to race to the fields; the adults followed behind at a decent pace, though some of the older harts trailed behind the rest. Wriva looked at the blue hart curiously. A plate on his stall read: Danger. She couldn’t tell if it was a warning or his name.

He simply looked back at her, eyes staring into the deepest part of her soul. Wriva wondered what he might see there. She met his gaze, which he apparently did not like; he let out a shrill whistle, loud enough to wake the dead. Axel watched from the doorway; impressed that she did not flinch. “Stop that ya brute!” She snapped at him, causing his ears to turn towards her momentarily. She crept closer to his stall. He did not like that. The large stag reared up, then plunged his hooves downward. The sound of his hooves hitting the ground was like a tree splitting in half.

She paused for a moment. “Rude.”

“I told you to leave him alone,” Axel grumbled from the entryway, startling Wriva. “Start mucking stalls.”

Wriva nodded again, and almost asked about the hart left stabled, but thought better of it. As she cleaned the stalls, the other field hands began to wander in. Most of them seemed to have pre-defined duties; once Wriva was done cleaning she tentatively walked up to one of the fauns who was washing the harts.

“Do—do you need any help?” She asked, trying to mask her accent.

The other woman looked her over, unimpressed, and rolled her eyes. “Talk to Axel about getting a regular schedule of things to do,” she mumbled. “And get away from this one’s flank; he’ll kick your horns off.”

Wriva stuttered out a thank you as she cautiously edged away from the hart. Axel was out back again, walking around the barn, looking at the fields, and ticking things off of the list in his hand. “Sir—” Wriva started, but stopped when he held a hand up.

“Follow me.”

That was it–no context–he just moved on to the next area. As he moved, he showed her the list, and acquainted her with the fields and the equipment. The far fields were mostly used in the summer; the front fields in the winter. Some of the animals had special diets; lists of current statuses hung on their stable doors. The smaller beasts of the farm, like the goatlambs and chickens, were paddocked in a different area. Wriva tried to commit everything he went over to memory, and was surprised to find they were approaching the blue roan’s stall. At the end, he handed her the list.

“What—”

“You’ll muck the stalls every morning, and then you’ll go through this list. When you’re done, you’ll shadow me.” Axel grabbed a hat off of the stall door, and flicked open the latch to the blue roan’s gate. He hopped on, and rode off. To where—Wriva didn’t know. Axel was actually quite impressed with her, but he’d leave her wondering just a little longer.

“Hm,” the faun who was washing the harts grunted. “He left you in charge of the list? That's…impressive,” she said, a wry smile softening her face. “My name's Vafi, you?"