In the Royal Stables, Vivienne found Nova sitting atop a bale of hay,
chattering away merrily to her father, who was a blacksmith but often
looked after the horses, and was inspecting Faramir's mount, Ellainora.
The young prince Faramir, now twelve years old, felt responsible for his
horse, and was standing, anxious-faced, beside Nova. Her balance wasn't
great, so she occasionally tipped dangerously sideways, and he kept pulling
her upright.
"Hallo, Pappa Blacksmith," Vivienne chirped in a singsong voice, trotting over to her friend, "Hallo Nova-lina! Hallo Faramir, would you help me up, please?"
Absently, Faramir lifted her onto the hay bale.
Wiping his head with a large, old handkerchief, the blacksmith gently patted the mare's nose reassuringly.
"I'm sorry, sir," Said the big man regretfully, "But it would be an undeserved punishment to let Ella live. Her leg mun be ailing her summatt awful."
Faramir nodded, swallowing painfully.
"I – I understand."
"We'd best ter get it done as soon as possible, m'lord. Would you take the girls outside, lad."
"I'd like to be with her," He said softly, sniffing slightly, trying to be manly and not cry, especially in the presence of girls.
"O' course. Nova, Vivienne, please would y' go outside."
It wasn't a question, but an order said politely.
Disappointed, the little girls skipped outside, then stopped around the corner. They could tell something was going to happen, even though they didn't know what, and they did not like missing out.
Quickly, so as not to miss anything, they ran down the side of the big wooden building, and each found a peep-hole.
"I cannae see naught!" Nova complained.
"Shh!" Vivienne hissed in reply.
If they got caught the whole game would be over. That was how they saw it – a game, spying on the older people who pushed them away.
Vivienne frowned in confusion when she saw Nova's father draw a sword. What did he need a sword for, in a stable? She didn't understand, either, the tears rolling silently down Faramir's face.
When the sword was drawn swiftly across Ella's throat, Vivienne almost cried out in shock. They were killing her! And Faramir – didn't he care? He just stood there! Didn't he love his horse? Didn't he care?
The blood that gushed splattered onto the floor, onto the blacksmith's hands, onto Faramir's tunic. Red was all she could see, could only hear an echo of the horse's scream ringing in her mind.
Mortified, horrified, shocked. Vivienne felt sick to her stomach, and she was hardly aware of the hot tears that sprang into her eyes, or the way she ran away, sobbing noisily.
"Vivienne? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Nova cried out, chasing after her, but the younger girl didn't turn around or answer, she didn't even hear.
"Hallo, Pappa Blacksmith," Vivienne chirped in a singsong voice, trotting over to her friend, "Hallo Nova-lina! Hallo Faramir, would you help me up, please?"
Absently, Faramir lifted her onto the hay bale.
Wiping his head with a large, old handkerchief, the blacksmith gently patted the mare's nose reassuringly.
"I'm sorry, sir," Said the big man regretfully, "But it would be an undeserved punishment to let Ella live. Her leg mun be ailing her summatt awful."
Faramir nodded, swallowing painfully.
"I – I understand."
"We'd best ter get it done as soon as possible, m'lord. Would you take the girls outside, lad."
"I'd like to be with her," He said softly, sniffing slightly, trying to be manly and not cry, especially in the presence of girls.
"O' course. Nova, Vivienne, please would y' go outside."
It wasn't a question, but an order said politely.
Disappointed, the little girls skipped outside, then stopped around the corner. They could tell something was going to happen, even though they didn't know what, and they did not like missing out.
Quickly, so as not to miss anything, they ran down the side of the big wooden building, and each found a peep-hole.
"I cannae see naught!" Nova complained.
"Shh!" Vivienne hissed in reply.
If they got caught the whole game would be over. That was how they saw it – a game, spying on the older people who pushed them away.
Vivienne frowned in confusion when she saw Nova's father draw a sword. What did he need a sword for, in a stable? She didn't understand, either, the tears rolling silently down Faramir's face.
When the sword was drawn swiftly across Ella's throat, Vivienne almost cried out in shock. They were killing her! And Faramir – didn't he care? He just stood there! Didn't he love his horse? Didn't he care?
The blood that gushed splattered onto the floor, onto the blacksmith's hands, onto Faramir's tunic. Red was all she could see, could only hear an echo of the horse's scream ringing in her mind.
Mortified, horrified, shocked. Vivienne felt sick to her stomach, and she was hardly aware of the hot tears that sprang into her eyes, or the way she ran away, sobbing noisily.
"Vivienne? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Nova cried out, chasing after her, but the younger girl didn't turn around or answer, she didn't even hear.