ElvenPads-- As usual, I don't own anything, 'cept original characters. Please review!

Artemis-- I found him!

ElvenPads-- Um, who?

Artemis-- Orlando!

ElvenPads-- Please enjoy AND REVIEW! WHERE'S ORLY?

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So, where was I? Ah, yes. Train ride duration. While Sirius and James were down to the eighth slice of cheese on the wall (and, may I add, it was the eighth time they had gotten to the eighth slice), Artemis slept. She looked so angelic in her sleep. That's how I kept from losing my mind to Sirius and James's cheese slice marathon (I still often wonder what possessed them to fall in love with that song…). I watched her sleep. Her soft eyelids closed, her breathing even, the steady rise and fall of her chest (no, not in that context. Yeesh!). I knew she was probably a real hellion, but you would never have guessed it had you seen her sleeping. Just looking at her helped my pain, if ever so slightly. Finally, the train screeched to a halt and everyone began pouring out of compartments. "See you around, mate!" James said, and headed off to the baggage car. Sirius gave me a wink and added, "See you," as he followed his companion. Artemis still slept. "Hey," I whispered as I shook her gently. "Artemis. Hey, wake up!"

"Hmm…" she mumbled as her eyes fluttered open. I loved watching her. The fluttering of her eyes reminded me of the ever-present butterflies in my stomach. "Oh. Hi there. Where are we?"

"Hogwarts," I chuckled softly. "C'mon, I'll help you with your stuff."

"Yeah, right," she said with a wide yawn. "My stuff's as big as you are, Patches."

"Patches?"

"Yeah. Y'know, like, a nickname?"

"Patches," I had a nickname, if even a derogatory one. I was thrilled. My thrill stopped when something heavy hit me in the chest, nearly knocking my breath out of me. "Oof! What is this thing?" I asked, looking down. "A gee-tar," she replied.

"S-sorry…?"

"A guitar! Y'know, Hank, Waylon, Johnny?" She made a small guitar-playing motion (I would later learn this was the trademark playing style of Johnny Cash).

"Um, no." She clutched her chest so suddenly, I thought she had been hit by some sort of invisible hex. "You don't know who Waylon is?"

"No," I repeated, a bit scared.

"Waylon Jennings? Hank Williams?" As I shook my head, her last question was asked with a mixture of impatience and anxiety. "Johnny Cash?"

"Um, no," I said softly. "O-kay, it's official," she said dramatically. "You're hopeless."

"No, I'm not," I tried to say indignantly. It came out more like a sour piano note. She chuckled at my hen-like squawk. She shouldered two black bags with ease. My God, I thought. I'm having trouble with the guitar alone! "Well, c'mon, Patch. I gotta go to the loading car anyway. You got anything you're doin'?"

"No."

"Cool." She shifted one of the bag's weight on her shoulder. "And by the way," she said slyly, looking over her shoulder, "You're not hopeless. Well," she added with a look to the ceiling, "not totally." She turned and winked, which gave me butterflies as it was. But when that girl smiled at me, I just about came unglued. She had the most beautiful smile. Perfectly straight and white. She didn't even seem to notice the scars that lined my face, even if ever so lightly. As I struggled along with the heavy black case, Artemis remarked, "So, you ever been around horses before, Patch?"

"Not (take heavy breath here)…really."

"So, this'll be your first time."

"No (pant, pant)."

"Oh, so…you lied."

"No (pant), I didn't. I (heave) have been around horses before. Just (pant, pant) not…extensively."

"Are you having troubles with that thing?" Not wanting to burden her with two bags and a guitar, I told the first lie in my eleven-year-old life.

"No."

"You sure?"

"No, no, I'm (pant) fine."

"Okay," she shrugged. Artemis seemed to simply shove her way through the herds of people going in the opposite direction. After what seemed an eternity, we got to the loading car. This is, by the way, the car in which we put extra bags and animals (and anything else what won't fit on the rest of the train). There, in five makeshift stalls, were the horses. "Okay, down the row," Artemis said. "You can put the guitar down now," she added with a soft laugh. That thing hit the floor like a sack of bludgers. "Alrighty, here we go. This guy's name is Iyce. This is spelled I-y-c-e." The animal was the black horse I had seen. Somehow, he was much. much bigger in person. "Um, why's he so big?" I was almost scared to ask, for fear I would get a sharp, biting answer. But no, she said in a kind, informative way, "He's a Friesian. It's a Dutch breed of horse coming from the area of Friesland, Holland."

"Just how big is he?" I asked with a little more confidence.

"He's just at 15.5 hands," she said, opening the stall and stepping in. "A hand is four inches, so that makes him 62 inches. Just around five feet, from foot to shoulder," Artemis stated, all the while checking the horse's legs, feet, back, and head. Funny thing was, she answered every question that I was thinking of asking.

"How old is he?"

"About a year. He's still growing. Might reach 16 hands," she smiled. "Word to the wise, though--keep away from this feller. He's not the friendliest beast on God's green earth." She hooked a rope to the collar-like thing on his head (which I later learned was called a "halter") and led him out of the stall. The strong smell of horses began to overpower my senses, and I began to feel nauseous. How could she stay around these rancid creatures for so long? I learned of the other horses just before I slipped slowly into a stupefied state. One was named "Colors," he was an Overo liver chestnut paint (liver chestnut looks like chocolate, by the way). "No, he's no specific breed," she had said. "He's APHA registered. Y'know, American Paint Horse Association?"

"Oh," I said to this new piece of horse data. Colors had his moments of being playful, but was mostly very compliant. Then there were the twin Tennessee Walkers, "Dewey" and "Truman" (said she named them after some sled dogs she read about). Dewey was just a wee bit more dominant than Truman, but they were both mischief makers. Dewey was a ladies' horse, being a beautiful black and white Tobiano. Truman was a scruffy dark bay that looked almost black. "Twins are very, no, extremely rare," Artemis informed me. "And what's even more fascinating is the color! Dewey looks nothin' like either of his parents! So, they were kind of a godsend," she said softly, stroking their heads before leading them out of the stalls. Then, finally, there was the mare. A beautiful horse, what Artemis said was a "buckskin." She had four black legs, a black mane and tail, a black muzzle, and a black pinstripe going down her back. Her name was "Selene."

"I don't rightly even know what breed she is. Her head says mustang, her build says quarter…"

"Um, I'm sorry, um…Quarter?"

"Oh! Quarter Horse. America's most popular breed."

"Oh…"

"Like I said, her head says mustang, her build says Quarter. All I know is, her heart says 'Friend', and that's good'nough for me."

"And what about the name?"

"Selene? Oh, well, her name means 'Lady of the Moon'. Found her on a full moon night. Knee high," Artemis said, bending down a hand to her knee. As she described each horse, she would take them out of the stall and tie them to a rail on the wall, where they stood patiently (save Dewey and Truman, who decided to play something like "I can toss my head higher than you"). I could see Artemis's love for her horses as she talked to and about each one. She would gently run a hand down a nose, lightly pick up a foot, slowly brush a coat. I admired her love for these beautiful (yet whom I thought disgusting at the time) animals. Soon, there were five horses--gorgeous, noble animals--tied to the rail. "What are you going to do with them, Artemis?"

"Well, I'm gonna keep 'em 'round, so I can teach y'all a thing'er'two 'bout the US. Sound good?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "Sounds good."

For those of you who've seen "Eight Below," ya'll know what I'm talkin' 'bout. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaze REVIEW!