He supposed that quiet was one way to describe it, but not in the literal sense: there was always a sound, somewhere. The shuffle of bodies. Warning barks. Whinnies. The rustle of something. Just the sound of animals breathing, living, existing. If it was well and truly quiet, he was worried.
But quiet as in calm, free of people: yes.
Few had reason to come out to Rory's farm, unless they really needed to get hold of him, for one reason or another. Mostly it had to do with leatherworking. On occasion, ponies—everything from 'needing one' (some reasons good, some reasons bad) to having a behavioral issue to medicking it.
Rory rather preferred it that way.
Once the ingredients were all in the pot Rory put the bowl back on the counter, then folded himself down on the floor, so that he sat with his legs crossed. The heat of the fire lapped against half of him, and cold as he was—his body had no fuel to burn for heat, after all—he gladly soaked it up. He just wished the stew would be done instantly, so that he could eat.
But it would take a while. Too long. Forever.
So he watched Jigano's face instead, his eyes darting away once to rove across his body, the way he leaned against the chair, before returning to the wry smile forming on his lips. And.. Jigano did not know how to ride?
It wasn't exactly surprising. If he had to guess, most people in the bubble couldn't—ponies were a luxury item, and the only reason Rory had some was because his mother had had 'em, and they'd kept breeding them to make sure that wouldn't change. Talys was out of his mother's favorite, a bay mare who had passed away some years ago.
"I could teach you to ride, if you'd like," he offered, thinking of his childhood, how it smelled of horse, of being barely strong enough to hold onto their thick, unruly manes, but kept safe by the arms encircling him. "It's.. such a freedom..."
He loved it when they ran. He loved being bareback on Talys, chasing some figment of their imagination, her body strong and warm beneath his.
"But the gelding would be Bakshi. He's old, and a bit of an idiot." Still, he said it fondly, a bit of a smile playing about his face. "A neighbor picked him up for fieldwork, which he really isn't suited to, so he ended up with me instead."
But quiet as in calm, free of people: yes.
Few had reason to come out to Rory's farm, unless they really needed to get hold of him, for one reason or another. Mostly it had to do with leatherworking. On occasion, ponies—everything from 'needing one' (some reasons good, some reasons bad) to having a behavioral issue to medicking it.
Rory rather preferred it that way.
Once the ingredients were all in the pot Rory put the bowl back on the counter, then folded himself down on the floor, so that he sat with his legs crossed. The heat of the fire lapped against half of him, and cold as he was—his body had no fuel to burn for heat, after all—he gladly soaked it up. He just wished the stew would be done instantly, so that he could eat.
But it would take a while. Too long. Forever.
So he watched Jigano's face instead, his eyes darting away once to rove across his body, the way he leaned against the chair, before returning to the wry smile forming on his lips. And.. Jigano did not know how to ride?
It wasn't exactly surprising. If he had to guess, most people in the bubble couldn't—ponies were a luxury item, and the only reason Rory had some was because his mother had had 'em, and they'd kept breeding them to make sure that wouldn't change. Talys was out of his mother's favorite, a bay mare who had passed away some years ago.
"I could teach you to ride, if you'd like," he offered, thinking of his childhood, how it smelled of horse, of being barely strong enough to hold onto their thick, unruly manes, but kept safe by the arms encircling him. "It's.. such a freedom..."
He loved it when they ran. He loved being bareback on Talys, chasing some figment of their imagination, her body strong and warm beneath his.
"But the gelding would be Bakshi. He's old, and a bit of an idiot." Still, he said it fondly, a bit of a smile playing about his face. "A neighbor picked him up for fieldwork, which he really isn't suited to, so he ended up with me instead."
