AN: Finding myself frustratingly blocked on my other story Songs of Intense Listening, I decided to start a second fic starring my OTP and revolving around my One True Love, horses, to keep the juices flowing. I have denoted horse terms I believe the casual passerby might need defined with a star and provided a miniature glossary at the end of the chapter, though feel free to request additional definitions. I hope you enjoy!
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everything comes and goes
pleasure moves on too early and
trouble leaves too slow
- j. mitchell
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Katniss' vision blurred as she slumped in the shadows behind the auction stage, peering up at the proceedings and struggling valiantly against the lump in her throat that wriggled and slithered like an enormous clod of worms. In a few minutes she would clutch a small piece of paper in her calloused fingers, a check meant to reimburse her for the hell of parting with the last few things she loved.
Overhead, a few murky windows revealed gleaming streams of cheerful sunlight. She longed to chuck her sneakers at the offending glass, furious at the insinuation that this day qualified as anything other than an absolute affront to life itself. How dare the sky not reflect her misery with a cold, pummeling rain, or at least a thick coat of clouds.
Footsteps closed in behind her, obviously headed her direction despite her best efforts at blending into the wall. The offending presence stopped beside her and she could sense his eyes on her, obviously awaiting her attention. She couldn't summon the energy to care.
After a few minutes of silence that stretched for years, during which she watched two of her favourite yearlings march off to another life, she finally forced her face to pivot toward the origin of the decidedly male footsteps. Arrestingly blue eyes peered at her beneath flops of ridiculously blonde hair that tumbled over his eyes in absurdly looping curls. Perhaps in another life she would have thought him impossibly handsome, with his broad shoulders and decidedly amenable countenance, but today she simply resented the brightness of his coloring and the intrusion on her misery.
"I'm sorry about your farm," the stranger shuffled awkwardly. Katniss grunted, unable to formulate anything even remotely coherent. What an absurd, pointless comment. He might as well have extended his sympathies for her having been thrust into the universe brunette, or for the lack of rainbows in the sky. Sorry a freak virus passed through Everdeen Acres, killed more than half of your horses and forced you to auction off the remains of the only home you've ever known. Sorry you have to stand here and watch your best friend, the first horse you ever sat upon, head home with some stranger, who may or may not properly care for her and most certainly won't love her as you do. Sorry you have to watch her final foal receive the same fate, and never get to see what becomes of her. Sorry your whole entire world has officially collapsed, and excuse me while I return to my perfect existence and leave you to deal with it.
"I assume you need a job?" He continued, obviously utterly impervious to social clues. What about her indicated that she would like him to continue hemorrhaging at the mouth?
"I need a new life," she muttered, feeling her voice wobble at the end and raising a hand to press her thumb and forefinger against her eyes, willing them to cease producing an offending liquid and relishing the temporary reprieve from sensory input.
"Have you heard of Mellark Acres?"
In spite of herself, she snorted. Of course she had heard of Mellark Acres, having not spent the last decade on a remote island. One of the most prestigious stables in the nation, it had produced several national champions in recent years. What she wouldn't give to sit aboard one of their magnificent stallions, whose monogrammed blankets were probably worth more than her house. Former house. Ugh.
"They're looking for a new breeding manager."
She felt her face pull into a scowl, steeling her gaze straight ahead and resolutely refusing to acknowledge him. How did this affect her? Had he marched over here and intruded upon her peaceful silence just to dangle in front of her the prospect of a posh life she'd never have? Who was this prick?
"Have your parents show up tomorrow morning for an interview at Mellark Acres tomorrow morning, and the job is theirs."
At this, Katniss actively frowned. "Like anyone would hire us, after all this? Piss off," she hissed. Did this idiot specialize in making the down and out feel like emotional roadkill?
"I'm serious. You didn't do anything wrong; it's just luck, or lack thereof."
At the tone, Katniss actually, reluctantly, met his eyes. The sincerity almost blinded her, and instantly diffused whatever snarky retort had assembled itself in her back of her throat.
"Have them show up tomorrow." Katniss felt her jaw hinge a bit, but she could only gape blankly. "Eight o'clock."
He reached out to encase her right hand in his, the warmth radiating through her. She distantly thought of the paddocks dethawing in the spring, pictured them bursting in an emerald green rush toward the endless sky, with sparkles of brilliant yellow dandelions flickering along the acres.
"I really am sorry about your farm."
He dropped her hand, which flopped uselessly to her side like a suddenly-deflated balloon, then backed away and vanished.
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Katniss gazed out over her new home, drinking in the vast expanse of sparkling grass and exuberantly-whitewashed fences punctuated by the occasional grazing horse. The land seemed to stretch indefinitely, the wrought-iron boundary markers that indicated the farm's property line positioned so far out of sight as to seem nonexistent. The brisk air spliced into her as she slouched against the front porch, crossing her arms in a futile effort to induce a miniature furnace effect.
Her current surroundings contrasted sharply with Everdeen Acres, her family's small breeding farm where she had come of age. While not exactly flush, they had existed quite happily, wanting for little while surrounded by the rich buoyancy of a loving family and the steady affection of their horses.
She wondered about the grazing figures that dotted the landscape and the small dots with legs that flanked them, tiny bundles of hope balancing precipitously atop spindly legs. Would any of them grow into grays with a sweet temperament, a fondness for muffins and perhaps a spackling of dapples across the haunches?
It didn't matter, she reminded herself harshly. She wouldn't be getting involved with the horses. She would simply do her job and go home.
Prim had enthused effusively about the potential that awaited them at Mellark Acres during the drive to their new home that morning, seemingly impervious to the duo of sullen, contemplative attitudes that surrounded her. Katniss wondered what her father would think about them effectively selling out to an enormous stables, though they certainly had little choice in the matter and would have avoided this outcome if at all possible.
Katniss' sullen, aimless staring suddenly encountered a human-seeming form, and she forced her blurry eyes into focus. By the stallion barn, a figure returned her attention, bright coils of yellow hair bursting out beneath a baseball cap and obscuring his face, a blue lead shank coiled loosely through his palm. He loitered beside a towering Warmblood that had to be at least eighteen hands*, its massive head dropped to crop at the grass. Even from this distance, Katniss recognized his fine bone structure and the elegant crests of muscles beneath his gleaming, steel-gray coat. After running her gaze admiringly over the stallion's figure, Katniss pointedly turned her head away, then covertly peered back in her peripheral vision. She couldn't place the figure, but her resolute avoidance of his gaze had done little to deter his pointed focus.
"All set for a tour?"
Unceremoniously thrust from her reverie, Katniss startled and focused on the lithe form that had materialized at the bottom of the steps. Her steps, she supposed.
"I'm Annie," the girl smiled, quietly, seeming to have floated in on the wind and found herself just as startled by her appearance as Katniss was. "Want to head over to the barn? I'll show you around."
"Sure," Katniss shrugged, realizing after the fact that perhaps she ought to have displayed a bit more enthusiasm to someone going out of their way to assist her. She trotted down the front steps and fell into stride beside Annie, who started pointing out landmarks as they passed.
"So, the broodmares are over there to the left, and the stallions are in the far barn at the top of the hill. Obviously, your mother will be dealing with all that, and as an exercise rider, you'll spend most of your time assisting in the main barn." Annie motioned to the most majestic of the structures, an enormous, obviously state-of-the-art structure that towered about a quarter mile ahead of them.
For some reason Katniss decided not to examine too closely, she found her eyes flicking back to the figure in the distance. While he had migrated slightly as the hulking dappled gray beside him drifted in search of tastier grass, his eyes remained resolutely trained on her.
She shifted uncomfortably.
"So, uh... don't look now, but who's the blonde staring at me?" Katniss inquired, hoping Annie wouldn't spin around and overtly gawk at the person. "Did I do something to annoy him?"
"What's he look like?"
"Young, kinda... thick. Stocky? Blue eyes, curly blonde hair."
Annie's nose crinkled slightly as she considered. "The chubby one?"
"He's not chubby," Katniss heard herself insist, distantly wondering why she felt compelled to defend a perfect stranger who, in all likelihood, not only didn't need her help, but would actively resent the interference of a social underling. "He's, uh… sturdy."
"Okay," Annie nodded lightly in a placating manner. Wonderful. Had her winning personality started alienating people already? She hadn't even been here a full day.
"That's the Mellark's youngest, Peeta," Annie explained, her expression inscrutable. "He's been staring at you?" Katniss chanced another glance through her hair. Peeta's eyes continued to bore into her as he stroked beneath the stallion's mane idly with his free hand. "Yeah."
"Weird," Annie shook her head. "Well. Let's head to the main barn so you can meet your charges."
Katniss tucked her hands into her hoodie as she trailed Annie, twitching beneath the spotlight of a stranger's attention. She curled her hands into each other and depressed the fingers into her skin, attempting to project an image of unaffected calm and certainly, she knew, failing with a resounding thud. Couldn't she just be invisible? Where did one sign up for that?
Just before tucking into the comforting shadow of the barn, she chanced one last glance at the Mellark kid. At this decreased distance, the slam of recognition brought her to an abrupt halt.
Jesus, Katniss jolted. It's him.
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* Horses are measured in "hands," a unit of measurement equivalent to four inches, and are measured from the bottom of their hoof to the top of their withers (the little bump at the base of the mane). An 18hh (18 hand) horse would thus stand 72" or six feet at the withers, making for an extremely tall horse.
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