The TwiceBorn

To See A World in A Grain Of Sand

"Every wolf's and lion's howl raises from hell a human soul."--William Blake

Duran had done well in buying supplies.  Inspired by his eagerness for Alora to leave, he’d gotten a variety of foodstuffs, a new whetstone, and several different types of ointment and liniments  that she had no clue on how to use.  He’d also gotten several pouches of tobacco and some peppermint leaves for Loki.  Alora picked up an odd looking metal comb with several small rings attached to its handle.

“What is this?”

“It’s a horse comb.  For brushing Loki.”

Alora stared silently at Duran until he glanced away.  She’d never known they made special combs for horses, she’d always used a handful of grass to rub him down  or she would force him into any available swimming hole she found and  scrub him with sand.

“A horse comb.” She repeated.

“Yes.” Duran stated succinctly. “You can keep the feathers on his legs from getting so tangled up. And look, see the little rings? They jingle together when you brush him.  It’s supposed to be soothing.”

“Soothing for who?”

“For him.  Loki.  He likes to be brushed.”

Alora nodded and slanted a look towards Loki, who was busy gnawing on wood as Islinn continued to undo bows.  She glanced back at the pile of supplies and noted a stack of grooming cloths as well.  Loki had more on the road toiletries than she did. 

“Maybe I should just leave the bows in.” Alora thought sarcastically as she surveyed all the horse gear.  She picked up a jar of brown ointment, opened it,  and immediately wrinkled her nose at the smell.

“What is this??”

“It’s for your saddle.  It keeps the leather soft and bendable.”

Alora found she was absurdly touched that Duran had taken her long ride to Lochedge into consideration.

“Thank you, Duran.  This will come in handy I think.”

Duran looked away.  The red of his face extended all the way to his hairline.

“Actually, it’s more to keep Loki from getting any rub spots from dry leather while you’re riding him.”

“Oh.”

 Alora set the ointment back down.   Duran leaned over and eagerly picked up two cloth-wrapped objects and held them out.

“Here. Porkbread.  I didn’t tell Fetch it was for you. Look,it’s still warm.”

Alora took one of the parcels and found herself a spot in the hay.  She opened the cloth and breathed in the aroma of barley and pork fat.  She tore off a piece and took a large bite, chewing carefully with her sore jaw.  She looked up to see Duran still standing by the supplies, holding the other parcel.  Alora raised her brows and impatiently pointed at Islinn.  He glanced at the girl, indecision written across his face and Alora inwardly groaned as he headed in her direction instead. 

“Do you want me to give her all of this?”  He asked as he knelt down. 

Alora swallowed and wiped her arm across her mouth.  She was starting to feel like she was in a foreign country where she knew none of the customs or traditions.

“And…why would you not give her all of that, Duran?”  She inquired.  Duran shot a hunted look towards Islinn.

“Well…Behrin feeds all his slaves…a certain way.  I doubt she’ll know what to do with this.”