Samuel had been short before, compared to the tall bard. Now he looked even smaller next to the mass and weight of a stallion’s sturdy body. Seeing him flinch and back away sent a thin needle of guilt through the lorekeeper-turned-reluctant-equine’s heart and he found himself stilling his agitated prancing as much to calm his companion as himself.
The stammering was frustrating now, but given how he’d inadvertently scared his new friend a little patience seemed in order, however unsettled Jigano remained on the inside. He forced himself to stand motionless, dropping his head a little so his eye was on level with Samuel’s, and focused on slowing his breathing and heartrate while the other man spoke.
And what he said made sense, even if it wasn’t the sort of sense that Jigano wanted to hear right then. He was a talking horse, and Samuel was a woodsman – a hunter, perhaps? – and the world around them was strange with its lack of depth and simple colors. There had been no scent from the feather – no smells at all, except for their own – and no sound of birds or squirrels or even insects. Not even the rustle of wind in the leaves, or the creak of shifting tree trunks.
Jigano snorted, but thoughtfully rather than angrily, and his ears slowly perked forwards again, swiveling towards Samuel as he gave a small bob of respect. ”That’s… a good notion,” he admitted reluctantly. ”The last thing I remember was touching the book… did you do so as well? And did you catch any words on the spine or cover?” He’d thought the cover had been simple plain canvas, and before he could flip it open to read inside he had been turned into a horse in the woods. A forest he slowly turned to pay more attention to now, tail switching thoughtfully as he let his ire be redirected to examining his surroundings more closely, noting the lack of detail even in the leaves closest to him – simple veins on the nearest but no spots of rot or age. Just simple one-tone green in perfect ovals on bushes and low-hanging branches, quickly becoming mere blurs and suggestions of shapes the farther his eye traveled from the clearing.
"If you're right, we're probably going to need that feather." He turned back to his friend with a sigh, steeling himself for the blow his pride was about to take. "And I suppose... until we figure out what's going on for certain... the fastest way to travel would be for you to... ride." And since there was only one horse at hand, it didn't take a genius to figure out who was going to get ridden.
The stammering was frustrating now, but given how he’d inadvertently scared his new friend a little patience seemed in order, however unsettled Jigano remained on the inside. He forced himself to stand motionless, dropping his head a little so his eye was on level with Samuel’s, and focused on slowing his breathing and heartrate while the other man spoke.
And what he said made sense, even if it wasn’t the sort of sense that Jigano wanted to hear right then. He was a talking horse, and Samuel was a woodsman – a hunter, perhaps? – and the world around them was strange with its lack of depth and simple colors. There had been no scent from the feather – no smells at all, except for their own – and no sound of birds or squirrels or even insects. Not even the rustle of wind in the leaves, or the creak of shifting tree trunks.
Jigano snorted, but thoughtfully rather than angrily, and his ears slowly perked forwards again, swiveling towards Samuel as he gave a small bob of respect. ”That’s… a good notion,” he admitted reluctantly. ”The last thing I remember was touching the book… did you do so as well? And did you catch any words on the spine or cover?” He’d thought the cover had been simple plain canvas, and before he could flip it open to read inside he had been turned into a horse in the woods. A forest he slowly turned to pay more attention to now, tail switching thoughtfully as he let his ire be redirected to examining his surroundings more closely, noting the lack of detail even in the leaves closest to him – simple veins on the nearest but no spots of rot or age. Just simple one-tone green in perfect ovals on bushes and low-hanging branches, quickly becoming mere blurs and suggestions of shapes the farther his eye traveled from the clearing.
"If you're right, we're probably going to need that feather." He turned back to his friend with a sigh, steeling himself for the blow his pride was about to take. "And I suppose... until we figure out what's going on for certain... the fastest way to travel would be for you to... ride." And since there was only one horse at hand, it didn't take a genius to figure out who was going to get ridden.
