By the time the mid-summer sun crept over the eastern horizon of the Westemnet, the sprawling homestead was already buzzing with life, and the promise of another hectic day. The air was thick with the moisture of the rapidly-evaporating dew that had drenched the pastures overnight, and the stands of stately oak trees that dotted the fence line all around the estate were full of chorusing birds who refused to wait for daylight to begin their song.
Restless hooves were stomping within the barn as the sturdy girl with the golden waist-length braid crossed the yard. Her clothes were worn, but in good repair; working clothes, a sleeveless tunic for the oppressive heat of the coming day, and a pair of breeches, not unlike one might expect to see on a boy. For it was a boy that the master of the house had hoped and prayed for, during his wife's one and only successful pregnancy. And yet it was Brynleigh who now lived and worked tirelessly under his headship. The occasional joke was uttered outside of her presence, questioning just how much of a girl she could really be, when she all she did was work and ride and train, covered in grass stains, mud splatters, scrapes, and bruises.
The massive doors to the barn were slid back by her well-muscled arms. Further along the breezeway, the nursing mares with their new foals fussed to be let out into the fresh air and sweet grass, so their little ones could stretch their long, gangly legs and give them a rest from their maternal duties. In another section of the elegantly large structure, the proud stallions who had fathered the foals snorted and huffed, with the occasional thud of a hoof against a wall, demanding food, water, and release from their stalls. The girl brushed along the walkway, snatching up empty feed buckets, hooking a rake beneath one arm, grabbing the handle of a wheelbarrow with a free hand. The morning breeze drifted through, carrying the pleasant, familiar scent of straw and manure, green grass and sweet hay; the scent of home.
She hummed as she worked, a method to each movement, the chores having been performed countless times before, until they were second nature. Perhaps this comfort and routine was why she did not at first notice the pair of blue eyes watching her from the doorway. It wasn’t until she raked her way over the straw-covered floor, far enough to move into the long, thin shadow, that she realized he was there. Her eyes lifted first, followed by her pale, young face, framed with untidy wisps of hair that had worked free of her braid.
A young man stood there, silhouetted against the brightening morning. His arm was leaned against the doorframe, and his other hand was set on his hip. A mop of auburn hair fell forward over his eyes, and he was grinning at her.
“What’s that you’re humming?” he asked, scratching at his chin.
The girls’ eyes blinked a few times. She straightened up, looking him over from head to toe. “Who’re you?”
“Do you always answer a question with a question?” he retorted, chuckling to himself. Without seeming to expect an answer - to either of his questions - he stepped forward, extending a large, slender hand. “I’m Théo.”
Brynleigh paused to brush her dirtied palms over her trousers before taking the hand with a firm grip. “That can’t be your whole name.”
He laughed lightly. “Indeed, it is not. But that’s what you can call me. What about you?” He gestured at her with his thumb, after releasing her hand.
Now it was her turn to rest a hand on the swell of her hip. “Well, as I live here, I think you should state your business before any more is said. But…” Her deep blue eyes sparkled pleasantly in the golden light of the rising sun. “...I’m Bryn.”
The young man grinned widely, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “That can’t be your whole name.” He smirked at his own joke, straightening himself and squaring his shoulders. “I’m here to work over the summer. My uncle wants me to learn the business, and there’s none better known than Éohard.” He paused, before adding, “And his daughter.” An audacious wink was cast towards her then.
The girl's’ eyes widened slightly, and beneath the grubby streaks of dirt and perhaps even manure on her fair cheeks, a rosy hint of color swelled. “Uh…” She turned away, stuffing the rake beneath her arm and grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow. “W-well, good luck with your learning!” she called out, hurrying along the breezeway.
“Half a moment!” he shouted after her, beginning to laugh. “How am I to learn if you run from me?” Grinning from ear to ear, he swiped up the empty feed pails she’d left behind and went after her.
