“..We’re doing this again?” he grumbled out, pulling himself to a stand amidst the gravel and dirt that had lay claim to the sides of their encampment. “It hurts less the third time you get thrown off the horse, you know.” Cilian replied in his typical teasing fashion, adjusting the cyan shawl wound tight around his waist. “..Really?” "No. Feel free to test it, though." The sun was drawing low long before they had made camp, its normal yellow glow replaced by a display of purple and orange that gave them both pause. They were far along now- further east of the coasts of Ȧgerik than they'd been in prior assignments. The crag they found themself upon was ample height to give them a lay of the land, and the journey ahead. His gaze turned from the cliffside and the sunset, towards something decidedly more intimidating. Cilian had named her Aibell after the fairy queen of his Aontaithe ancestry, and in a bid to seek her favour in forgiveness after claiming to have won the steed in a less-than-honest match of Hisad. Each time Cilian told that story, Wilvamair believed it a little less- though, he never said anything. Regardless of how he had found her, the animal was evidently his greatest friend in this world, a fact that even the young squire that he was could see. But in Cilian's absence, Wilvamair called her Demon. A mare of pure-white coat, and eyes of icy blue stared down at him as he stood. "..Give me a break, Demon." he muttered under his breath at the beast, greyed gaze turning away hastily from the blue of the horse. "You're mumbling, William." Cilian remarked from across the campsite, back turned towards the two as he busied himself with starting the rudimentary fire he'd built. "--Um. I just--. Why do I have to learn to ride the horse now? I can learn when we're home." Cilian busied himself with the firestarter for a few moments longer before grumbling, stepping back and outstretching an accusing finger towards the pit. The wood erupted in green flame that faded to murky orange, and he turned towards Wilvamair to approach. Where another mentor might have grown irritated at his questioning, Cilian simply set his hands on his belt, and chuckled. "Because it's less embarrassing for you, if it's just Aibell and I to see you fall. She won't tell anyone, I promise. Wouldn't want your village friend back west to know you can't ride a horse, would you?" Aibell released something that could be likened to an amused snort, at that. Even though he knew she couldn't understand what Cilian had said, the timing succeeded in bringing a red flush to his ears, and an indignant look on his face. He stared at the horse's face a moment, before mumbling once again. "..I hate Dem--. Aibell." The older Ward of Fae paused at that, no usual retort leaving him for a few moments. Eventually, he broke the silence. "She's had a long day. Same as you. You'll figure it out, kid." And without another word, Cilian stepped off into the forest, whistling an especially irritating Aontaithe folk-tune. But not before pausing by a log near the fire and setting down an apple, the waxy red surface reflecting the orange glow like a painted wall. Wilvamair balled up his fists, and as Cilian left he took a stride forwards for the horse, lifting his foot for the polished white stirrup. His hand came up to hold the reins against the mane, as Cilian had taught him, and he pushed up. Aibell made a single, deliberate step to the right, and he was sent back down into the dirt. "I hate you. What do you get out of doing that, Demon? I need to learn this." The words came out of him almost instinctively, frustration boiling over now such that any filter he had on his words had faded. He moved to a sit, eyeing the shaggy white head of the mare with as much contempt as a fifteen year old could muster. Wilvamair let himself stew in his self-pity for a long few minutes. In his stewing, perhaps a thought came to mind. The purple-orange of the horizon had faded, once he stood for the third time. The glow of the fire grew more pronounced in turn, and he took a moment to tear his eyes away from the death-stare of the horse and towards it. Grey eyes spotted the apple. Head turned to Aibell, then back to the apple. Reluctantly he slugglishly crept towards the log, plucking up the fruit carefully. Following a clearing of his throat and a rubbing of his eyes, he retraced his steps towards the horse. And, following a deep breath, he spoke, watching the pale blue eyes carefully. "..I'm sorry I said I hated you. You're Cilian's friend and--. I haven't been kind." No amused snort came from Aibell, this time. The creature simply straightened, turning to face him directly. Tentatively, he offered the apple out. "I wouldn't want someone who called me a demon to ride on my back either. ..Aibell." The mare stared at the apple, then at him as he said her name. A blink was offered, and they consumed the apple with a crunch. He stepped closer to the stirrup then, before carefully setting his boot in it. Compared to earlier, the mare was still as a boulder as he drew himself up. Ten seconds passed, then twenty, then a minute, until it sank in that he'd been successful. It was not long after jubilation grew in him that a signature chuckle could be heard, and the thump of a slow clap as Cilian stepped out from the trees. He'd been watching every moment. Wilvamair turned in the saddle, watching his mentor as they approached. Cilian evidently took his time to speak, adjusting the folds of the long brown coat he wore, then the blue leather gloves on his hands. "You knew what you had to do. Once you stopped trying to impress me, huh?" "..Was the apple deliberate?" Another chuckle left the Knight, at that. "Yeah. But I had a hunch you'd know what to do with it." "..And the Paladins said I'd never make a good teacher. Hah." Cilian added, grinning idly to himself as he lifted a hand to pat at Aibell's neck. His grin faded, and thoughtfulness prevailed in his tone as hazel eyes looked to Wilvamair. "I can teach you the things a Knight does. The swordplay, the wayfaring. --Heh. The horse-riding." "But I can never teach you the true substance of a Knight. Kindness. Empathy. And no small deal of grit. The stuff you read in those books of yours." The departure of Cilian's speech from its useful carefree nature, and the admission, scared him more than the prospect of falling from any horse. The sombre man beneath the bravado and sarcasm. The man who knew his limits, and Wilvamair's realisation that Cilian's capability to be fallible was terrifying to him. Jubilation faded into a tinge of melancholy. Cilian let his words linger for a moment before breaking the silence of the crackling fire, windswept trees, and spectating birds. "Can't teach. Can only give a push, and hope you know how to land. But now I know." "..Know what, Cilian?" The Knight glanced aside at Aibell then before chuckling, and nodding to himself. A silent word between friends that Wilvamair would never hear. "That it's getting dark. And I'm hungry." The usual Cilian returned as he stepped past him with that comment, but not before pausing a moment later, and lifting a hand to run through his rust-coloured hair. The hand set on Wilvamair's shoulder, giving it a few pats with an uncharacteristic awkwardness as he whispered. "..You've got it, kid. Always did. You're gonna put me to shame, someday." . "..Don't tell Aibell I said that. We have a bet. " The memory of that night in Drixagh is always one that remained with Wilvamair, especially as the year lingers on, and snow begins to fall. An important lesson about how to treat perceived enemies, about the purpose of a teacher, and how to settle differences. Horse, or otherwise.
