A/N: Third chapter is a little lighter – enjoy! More to follow soon.
That horse!
Lerant limped out of the stable block, muttering a variety of curses under his breath, citing all the major gods, several minor ones, a selection of immortals and some acts still illegal in Galla and Maren. He paused, leaned against the wooden wall, pulled off his boot and inspected his impressively purple big toe nail, the newest injury his feet currently carried.
"Drum not being amenable?"
Lerant jumped a foot at the voice, landed on his bad foot, swore with renewed volume and originality, then looked up to see Dom smiling benevolently down at him, eyes betraying his amusement.
"Laugh all you like, Masbolle, that horse has it in for me. I could cope with the barging, the mess, but he delights in standing and then, this is the good bit, leaning on my foot. He's so gods cursed big as well. He's caused me more reason to visit the healers than any enemy we've encountered." Lerant massaged his foot gently.
"Well, you won't have to look after him, soon."
"What do you mean?" Lerant's eyes snapped up, suspicious and worried.
"Sir Raoul's getting a squire, is the word on the grapevine. She can look after Drum, that's traditional squire duties."
"It's my job. I'm very good at it."
"You hate that horse."
"Raoul can't be pleased with me." Lerant muttered, half to himself. "This is as good as replacing me. What am I going to do?" He chewed his full lower lip, then his ears caught up with his brain. "What do you mean, she? He's taking on The Girl?" He sounded horrified.
"So I heard from my cousin. The news was meant to cheer you up." Dom frowned. "Don't worry about it."
"I'm being replaced by a girl!" Lerant sounded utterly forlorn. Dom shook his head and left him be, standing on one foot and clutching his purplish-blue toes.