Lys: A Drowned Cat

"Mmm" the Guttersnipe said. Aithne could tell she was headed for hysterics- later she would kick herself for it- so she did the only thing she could do. She dove headlong into the icy water. The shock of it brought everything into clear focus. She could not think of anything but how incredibly cold she was.

Rubbing her face, she pulled herself back out, looking something like a drowned cat. Looking over at the Guttersnipe, she saw the last flicker of some painful memory before the girl spoke. "I know more than you think I do" she said. "I'm not just an arrogant Roman."

Aithne shivered, but shook her head, a hint of a smile on her face. "No, you're not." Her opinion of the girl had definitely changed over the last few weeks- mainly the past few days. There was some common ground there, and Aithne thought she might be beginning to find it.

As for knowing more, She knew the girl didn't understand as much as, perhaps, she thought. She was less than a year enslaved, to one good master, and not that terribly far from home. She did not know how it felt when it went on and on, farther and farther from home with each change of masters, some good, some bad...

But the girl did know something, so she let it pass. She shivered again, and set to wringing out her gown's hem.


After a bit of searching, Cathair managed to find the paddock. Resting his arms on the fence, he watched the horses graze. Every so often, one would get it into its head to kick up its heels and go for a run, and then all was a rush of tail and mane as the herd followed, working off the energy their kind was known for.

They had horses in Eire, sure. But the British horses were a breed apart. Taller, stronger, more elegant and graceful. His clan's horses were sturdy little fellows, but these... he could watch them all day...

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