#dalmas sadler

[housedeaubemarle]

FFXIV Write 2024 #1: Steer

~~

Four turns ago:

‘Remy.’

Wind whistles in a pair of long Elezen ears, rushes through too-long chestnut hair. Too long for a place as wild as this; Ishgard wasn't entirely a halcyon paradise either, but its turbulence was the kind which allowed the indulgence of hair which surpassed the shoulders. He'll shear it all off afterwards. 

If he lives through this. The strident cries of Pin, his white-feathered Chocobo - and the wild yellow one he's trying to herd back towards the newly-established ranch - remind him of the possibility of a broken neck if he doesn't concentrate. Sweat stings his eye, which isn't good when one is trying to keep one's balance and aim for a specific destination. 

It's so close - he has to get a grip - the gate is right there, next to Mars who probably wears his most stoic expression as he watches his friend and employer from afar.

‘Find your direction, my son. It needn't be as Viscount.’

His shoulders and back burn; his fingers ache from gripping the reins too hard. Months later, he will learn how to hold them without killing his digits. He will learn control and balance; he will learn better ways to lean into his steed, to use thighs and knees to steer Pin better.

Right now though, he breathes too hard, adrenaline filling his veins as his bird whips across the grounds. Sharp claws rake up sprays of soil beneath as they veer left, swing right, back left.

Once the pen is within reach, he issues the new monosyllabic command he'd learned some months ago. In response, Pin stretches out and claps his beak at the wild one. The sharp snap seems to put the final cap on the entire affair - it sends the wild Chocobo straight on towards the waiting maw of the gate, squawking in indignation.

“INCOMING!” 

His hoarse, shouted warning is swiftly followed by the wild Chocobo bursting into the holding pen at last. As soon as it's past the fence, Mars moves like lightning and throws the gate closed, locking it securely. 

For his part, inertia drives himself and Pin to a halt several yalms away. In the middle of gasping for air, he lets loose with a triumphant shout, and punches the air. Pin shrieks along with him, spurred by his master's excitement. 

Nearer the pen, a Midlander smirks as he steps forward. He'd been watching from a further distance, assessing the process. 

“You'd think he tamed an entire flock, not just retrieved one runaway.”

The taller Elezen, Mars, gives him a sideways look. “Remont has always been excitable. Besides,” he looks back to the other chestnut-haired Elezen, who'd hopped off by now and was effusively bestowing Pin with pets and praises. “It was his first successful solo run.”

The Midlander nods in assent. “I won't say it's unsurprising; for someone so inexperienced, he's picking our ways up quickly.”

Mars smirks faintly. “If he puts his mind to something, he can usually make it work.”

“Hmm.” But the grunt is not doubtful; it's as good an acknowledgement as any.

Oblivious to this conversation, Remont closes his eyes and breathes in deep to catch his breath. The air here smells cleaner – of earth and forest – and feels fuller than the mountain air of Ishgard. And despite all the earlier exertion, he feels less weighed down on the ground here than up in those frozen, elevated heights.

‘But you must find your way - men cannot drift forever.’

When he opens his eyes again, the drumming of his heartbeat slowing to its more regular pace, there is bright blue sky, a little obscured by the ever-present foliage of towering caelumtrees. It's a beautiful sight.

“I think I could get used to this, Father,” he murmurs.

There is no reply, though a breeze ruffles his hair again. 

-

end.