Jenny: Daughters of the Rain

The rain cooled him off. With the familiar background clatter of his mare's hooves on the gravel and the somehow comforting splutter of voices and chuck of shovels on damp turf, Jason's temper wound down. As he approached the pen where the remaining mares were left, the rain, which had never really opened up, was beginning to break up and scatter, though the sky was still a dark tumble of cloud. Pushing his mare in among the others, he cast a glance up the pasture: the turf had turned a steely blue, like tabby silk, under the mizzle.

He followed after the mare into the pen and singled out Druce's and Lucius' mounts. He did not envy Kay and Bedwyr the journey they were having with the stallions. Except for Ambrosius' big Cyrus and the Guttersnipe's little Pharaoh, they rode strictly mares: they made for better and quicker-thinking mounts then the more tempestuous stallions. The two creatures looked back at him out of plaintive eyes through the damp strands of forelock, perplexed at their lot in the rain while the roof of their bower was torn apart.

Taking their reins, he pulled at them gently, calling, "Come, cousins. No matter: we're British-born. The rain doesn't hurt us. Come, cousins; come along..."

He stood them at the outer side of the pen, seeing to their girths, and presently he could see Druce and Lucius coming down the riverward path toward him, heaped up with the gear of a fisherman's world. He raised one hand and waved briefly.