Romans & histoires Cool Breeze Stables

Interesting, it makes everything easier. —And you trust? Yeah, I don't trust you. —Revised in a mocking tone. I step up, I'm almost there. The stables are at the beginning of the forest, there is many trees and vegetation around while the stable is the only major building on this side of the city. The fresh air is good, I lower my parasol, the shade of the trees is enough to protect me. Your Highness Continue to speak in a gentle tone even after my demotivation.

The beta’s head popped out from behind one of the horses and he grinned as he strode over. The inside of the stable was far from complete; it lacked individual stalls to keep the horses separate and the band’s gear was haphazardly piled up at the end of the building due to the lack of shelving. Still, it kept the horses and the equipment out of the elements, an important thing as autumn lowered the temperatures and heightened the chance for rain. “You lot heading into town?” Lejend called, his small, round owl peering out at them from behind a thin curtain of the beta’s hair. He reached up to affectionately scratch the bird near its beak and Dyllen watched as it nibbled his fingers in respon

She still wore her heavy ceremonial coat, and she had pinned the white ribbons from the mare to her chest so everyone from the lower yard could see them. "The wind is bad tonight, Alpha," Vessa’s father said, leaning his heavy arms on the table. He looked up toward the high seat where Bram sat with his fingers hooked in his gold chain. "The horse-masters say the grass in the lower meadow is ruined from the rain. We’ll need the southern storerooms cleared before the month ends." Bram didn't look up from his drink. He took a long swallow of the wine, wiping his beard with the back of his hand. "The storage is taken care of, Garrow. Rhydian checked the crates before noon."

Camille answers. “And where would they be returning to?” I ask. “The private stables. Come.” She says. Camille leads me out of the castle. We bypass the main stables, a bustling center of activity with grooms attending to the royal carriages and courtiers' mounts. Instead, she steers me towards a more secluded stable located at the far end of the first stable. This stable was different, made of dark wood, intricately carved with designs of galloping horses and lush vines. The scent of fresh hay and leather greets us as we step inside, mingling with the earthy aroma of the horses.

“Mr. Voss is waiting at the stables.” Of course he was. *** The air outside was cool, the sky still dark with only the faintest hint of dawn breaking along the horizon. The estate felt different at this hour—less like a display, more like something real. Raw. Working. Alive. *** The stables came into view slowly—long structures of dark wood and steel, lights already on inside. The low sounds of horses carried through the air, steady and grounding. Elijah Voss stood near the entrance. Coffee in hand.