The Golden Pear [YA - Featured]

♫~Notes 68~♫

 "Give me a break!" Kagetsu whimpered as Rocket tried to nibble on his hair. "Do I look like grass? Do I smell like one?" He waved his hand, shooing the horse's muzzle, but never punching him.

"He just likes you."

"Zip it, Ai! You can say it 'cause your hair are shorter than mouse's fur." The moment he looked away from Rocket, the horse grabbed his hair, munching on them.

"It's gross!" The animal's saliva wet his hair, sliding down his cheek as well.

Rigaku and Freya smiled and giggled. Kagetsu freed himself, and Rocket followed him, slowly walking after the boy.

They planned only a short visit, but they spent on the farm almost the whole day, enjoying home-baked goodies, hot cocoa, and the company of happy horses. This way, Satos could relax a bit as the teenagers helped them with the hardest work. Age was catching up to them every month.

'I should help here more.' Freya's eyes trailed around the shabby place. More planks needed change, and the exterior would use a new paint job.

Mrs. Sato-san made sure to hide it from Freya, but she glimpsed the worried look at her face. She wasn't a clueless kid. Running this type of institution cost a lot. They had basically no income, relying on donations and external help.

'How can I help?' Her green eyes blinked as she registered, she had stopped brushing Princess. The mare nudged her gently as if asking if Freya was alright. The girl patted her neck and continued. 'Maybe I could ask them...'

Rigaku glanced at Freya as she groomed the old horse. 'This place is so run down.' A sail covered a hole in the corner, but any bigger pour down could rip it with ease.

Not to mention the bucket he used to wash another horse had signs of rusting, and the handle could come off any minute.

'They barely have money to sustain this place. Taking care of horses is expensive, and they have five of them now.' Yet the stable could accommodate five or six more. From the photos Mr. Sato-san showed them, he calculated they took care of around sixteen horses by now, not counting the one they had now.

He lifted a pitchfork, noticing red spots on his hands. 'When did?' He bit his lips, putting up with the unfamiliar pain, and tossing the dirty straw onto the wheelbarrow. The stench of the area didn't bother him like the first time.

Not that he let others know his stomach rolled, and his lungs screamed for proper air. 'Should I mention it?' Tossing another heap into the wheelbarrow released a bit of steam from his body.

'Horses can smell like any other animals. Humans smell too.' Cigarettes and alcohol with excessive sweating came to his mind. 'It's part of nature. No complaint can change that.'

He leaned the pitchfork against the wall and pushed the wheelbarrow outside. This time the strongest screams came from his back and legs. The body and hands of the pianist turned into a distant memory. He was now a labor worker.