High Fyelds – The Black Stallion (#HF3)

HIGH FYELDS – THE BLACK STALLION

The rumours were only the beginning.

High Fyelds sounded too good to be true, but Seranthiem decided to take a chance on the stable anyway.

As he and his trusty dun stallions “Wave Rock” arrives in the secluded Valley through means he doesn’t quite believe in, and most certainly don’t understand, reality soon proves to be stranger than even the wildest rumours.

For starters, who keeps a stable with only “one” horse?

But what the stable lacks in size it makes up for in sweeping vistas, ancient forests, and mountains that threaten to pierce the sky.

And then the sounds begin…

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EXCERPT

Having spent the last couple of days living off rations — because camp cooking when you were alone was way too much effort — returning to High Fyelds came with several promises as far as Erina was concerned.

A proper bed was one. Proper food was another. Trotting into the yard, smelling mostly of horse, leather, and sweat, her nose didn’t disappoint.

Erina sniffed the air expectantly, trying to catch the nuances of the scents that were drifting out from the kitchen. One thing was certain, the food at High Fyelds had improved dramatically since Seranthiem’s arrival.

Not that she wasn’t able to cook, when she remembered. Most of the time, when it was just her[1], she just couldn’t bother. Things like dinner took years to make, seconds to eat, and an eternity to clean up after. She’d rather spend the time doing something else. Anything else.

She did like eating, though…

Erina couldn’t remember if “excellent chef” had been included on Sam’s resume. Might not have been. A lot of things hadn’t, now that she thought about it. Also, that kind of position hadn’t been what he’d interviewed for.

So far there had proven to be several additional, but definitely not unwelcome, perks to his presence. If having to deal with another human being was simply the price she had to pay for delicious food, then so be it.

‘Welcome back, My Lady,’ Sam said over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the skillet he was handling, as the main door creaked open. The door into the kitchen was open, allowing him to hear what happened in the rest of the house even if he couldn’t see it.

‘Thanks,’ Erina replied. She dumped several saddlebags on the floor and shrugged off the satchel from her back, dumping it into a wooden chair sitting right on the inside of the front door.

‘Smells wonderful,’ she said.

‘Thank you, My Lady.’

She knew better to interfere when Sam was cooking. It was the only time she’d ever heard him raise his voice. Erina grumbled, quietly, as to not let Sam hear her.

Apparently she “got underfoot”. Which was a polite way of saying she was a damn nuisance in the kitchen.

‘May I suggest you get cleaned up and an early dinner should be on the table when you’re done,’ Seranthiem said, his soft, clear, voice marred by the sizzling sounds coming from one of the pans on the range.

‘Can’t wait,’ Erina said, retreating. ‘My feet are killing me.’

[1] Which was, basically, all the time.