Chapter Text
Miles away, Herald-trainee Ahrodie sat on a wobbly stool, chasing away the grime on the saddle in front of her with vigorous circles of her soapy rag. She generally didn’t mind stable duty, but she hated the way the saddle soap parched her hands. While trusted grooms took care of most of the—limited—upkeep of the Companion’s stable, there were some chores that were too important to leave to someone other than a Herald. The care and maintenance of the Companion’s tack was one such task. The Her Herald-mentor had stressed how a sabotaged girth strap or even the squeak of a poorly greased saddle could spell injury or even death in the wrong circumstances. Further, a Herald represented the realm, and should be presentable no matter the urgency of the summons.
The Herald-Mage trainees don’t have to deal with these kinds of chores, she mentally scoffed. One of the trainees in her year group had the Mage Gift, and while she didn’t know him that well due their different schedules, they did talk on occasion. She had assumed they had the mage trainees had their own chore rotation, but he’d let slip at one point that he was only responsible for some light cleaning while living with his Herald-mentor. When pressed, he’d told her that their training was “too important” for distractions. She didn’t blame him, he was just conveying what he was told, but—wasn’t her training important? Couldn’t the mage trainees benefit from learning practical skills just as much as us ordinary Heralds?
The clear ringing of a Companion’s hooves interrupted her frustrated musings. She looked up and glanced through the doorway. Part of stable duty was tending to the needs of the Companions, who despite their many talents lacked opposable thumbs. She sighed and swung herself off her stool. Since Companions could only Mindspeak their Chosen, a system of a chalk board with a variety of prepared messages and a large bell had been created. The Companion would ring the bell to get the attendant’s attention, and then use their nose to indicate their message on the chalk board. The one exception was a Companion on Search.
Companions on Search were driven by the compulsion to find their Chosen, and often forgot pleasantries in their haste. They would give the bell a few aggressive swings, and then barge straight into the tack room. There was a reason the door was always open and unusually tall and wide.
She heard a single, gentle chime of the bell as she walked down the aisle. As she approached, her mind scrambled to identify the Companion. It was not one she saw frequently. Finally, it clicked. Yfandes, an older mare who had been unpartnered for nearly ten years. Ahrodie wondered what had brought her here. She was soon answered. Yfandes looked her in the eyes, and then deliberately brought her nose to “Mission, formal panoply required.”
Huh, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was off to pick up a stranded Herald. She must just not be as excitable as the youngsters on Search. “Right away, ma’am,” Ahrodie chirped, “I’ll get you decked out mighty pretty for your Chosen.”