XXXII

GRACE

Touch the Sky – Julie Fowlis

When King Edmund had offered her a show of his good-will, Grace could not deny the interest it spiked. She'd expected more work – actual work, perhaps even some stories of his past but never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined something like this.

"This is a bad idea," Grace grumbled. Her behind sat firmly on the soft leather saddle, each leg dangled dangerously over its sides. Held firmly by the muscles of her thighs stood a very large and very alive beast that Grace was trying her darndest not to startle.

"You'll be fine," King Edmund shushed her as his hand ghosting over her leg, "Put your foot through the stirrup here."

Grace followed his directions, a sigh of relief leaving her throat when her shoe found purchase on the metal. She immediately adjusted herself on them.

The King stepped back and gave a short hum of approval, "Good. Be careful not to dig your heels in or Maiden will start walking."

Grace immediately elevated her heels from the horses sides.

"Not that much," He chuckled.

As she eased her ankles onto the soft brown coat of Maiden, Grace did not dare to even breathe. The motion was apparently laughable to the Just King, who watched on with an amused smile.

"You're thinking about this too much," He said, "Horses can sense nervousness."

Grace grimaced, "They can? Maiden is not going to like me then."

As if in response, the horse snorted, it's long face moving against the King's hands. He soothed it immediately with a short pat on the muzzle, "You need to relax."

Grace tried to breathe, to untense the muscles in her hands which had turned white as they gripped the reins, "Easier said than done."

King Edmund reached towards her, placing a hand gently – and hesitantly – over the bump in her dress where her knee sat, "Just breathe."

The effect was instantaneous; Grace's sweat slicked hands loosened a fraction and her heart rate slowed. Breathing became easier, the inflow entering her lungs circulating to her brain which allowed her to think clearly.

"I shouldn't need to calm you as well as the horse," the King muttered, the warmth of his hand leaving her knee as he returned to petting Maiden's muzzle.

"Forgive me, I didn't realise that being afraid of a living being between your legs would be considered foolish," Grace bit back, the fraying edges of her stress releasing before she could school the words. Maiden released another short snort.

An uncomfortable look shadowed the King's face for a moment as he too turned red. It wasn't until she saw his expression that she realised there was a second connotation to her words.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," King Edmund hushed her, choosing instead to focus on something else, "Your grip on the reins is wrong."

Gently, he eased her hands away from the leather and took them into his own. His voice soft as he explained the motions to pull the reins taught and separate them equally in her hands.

"Hold the leather between your thumb and forefinger," He instructed, pleased when she followed easily, "That's it."

Grace adjusted the leather in her hands, her thumb rubbing over the smoothed sown brown in calming circles. She was calm and could breathe easily but that didn't deter the alarm bells whirring in the back of her mind.

"Tell me, why am I learning this again?" She asked.

King Edmund stepped back slowly, hands raised to catch either of them should they fall out of place, "I told you, it's a way of clearing your mind."

Among the thrum of anxious energy in her mind, Grace couldn't see how this exercise would help, "My mind doesn't feel very clear right now."

The King sighed, "It is also very likely that you'll need to ride a horse in order to make it back to Spare Oom. I don't imagine the entryway will be somewhere easily reachable, otherwise we'd have already come across it."

Grace nodded gently, her mind very aware of Maiden's every movement. She remembered her first steps into the cool night air during her first escape attempt, the very reality that she had no way to travel exhausting her before she'd even stepped off the stone edge of the Cair.

As Maiden readjusted her feet, Grace's heart leapt to her throat. Another thought entered her mind, terrifyingly tangible amongst the worries she already held, "What if I'm not good at this? Will that stop me from travelling to the entryway?"

"There is no point in worrying about that before you've even tried," The King answered, his eyes a comfortingly warm brown stew made up of a variety of emotions.

"There is a point when I know this is likely to be a disaster," Grace protested as Maiden readjusted again. She was grateful that King Edmund had not stepped more than a few feet away as the gnawing fear that the horse would throw ate further into her bravery.

He crossed his arms, the dark brows upon his face raised in a challenging motion, "Says who? Between the two of us, you are the only one who is second guessing yourself. It's surprising to me that your bravery should falter now considering it has never faltered in my presence."

"You can be reasoned with," Grace replied, "A horse cannot."

The King raised his dark irises skyward before he politely turned to an attendant and whispered something incoherent to Grace's ears. The young Faun nodded politely, folding into a small bow before disappearing behind the large wooden slats of the stable doors.

He – again – stepped further away, much to Grace's disdain, "If you are brave enough to reason with me then you are brave enough to ride a horse."

Grace shook her head minutely, her grip on the reins tightening again, "Bravery in an emotional response is different to bravery in the physical."

The words caught King Edmunds interest, but before he could respond the Faun reemerged. At his side was a large brown horse, completely bare of saddle or reins. It didn't seem to matter, for the horse followed the side of the Faun obediently, only stirring from its position once the King came into view.

The horse aligned themselves next to the King and waited. In response, King Edmund ran a familiar hand over it's dark mane. He nodded gratefully to the attendant as a stool was placed between the two.

Grace watched on, puzzled at the scene before her as the King leapt lithely into the horses back – the horses bare back. Unconsciously, she shifted in her saddle, the idea of riding a horse without one seemed uncomfortable at best. That didn't seem to faze Kind Edmund as he settled a leg on either side of the beast.

"I suppose the question then becomes, why must you only excel in one and not the other?" He adjusted himself on the horses back easily. His balance and countenance assured despite the lack of reins, "Why limit yourself?"

Grace balked at the challenge, "I don't know. I suppose I find feats of physical ability more daunting. You're less likely to be killed by emotions."

At King Edmunds behest, the large chestnut horse trudged forwards, aligning him equally at Grace's side. The King smiled at her encouragingly, "I am inclined to the opposite. Emotions run unbidden and can only be controlled on the surface. There is much more control to be found in the physical, thus a larger chance at preserving life."

Grace looked ahead, refusing to meet the reasonable words and encouraging gaze of the Just King. She would admit that her anxiety had lessened with him at her side, regardless of the missing accessories, "I suppose I could try it your way."

"An excellent choice," King Edmund praised, he urged his horse forward into Grace's sight, stopping about a metre away and angled so that the full profile of his horse could be seen.

As the horse walked, the King balanced easily upon it's back. The movement seemed second-nature to him as he relied only on the grip of his legs and a steadying hand between the horses shoulders for balance. It was all Grace could do to watch in amazement.

He gestured to the chestnut beast, "This is Phillip, he is an… expert of sorts. I've asked him to join our ride today to offer a few pointers."

Grace stared at the beast in apprehension, then her eyes darted around the creature. She expected to see some faun emerge from behind the mass of brown coat. When none did, her confusion marred her features.

Her confusion was obvious to the King, who seemed to have expected it. Tentatively, he placed a hand upon the horses mane, "This is Phillip. He's a Talking Horse."

Grace's eyes zeroed in on the dark ones of the beast immediately. The stare was returned evenly, the irises holding knowledge similarly to the way other Talking Beasts did.

"Is she dumb? Is that possible in human kind, Sire?"

Grace stiffened at the third voice. The strong tone reverberating straight from the horse's mouth. She didn't know why it surprised her, she'd seen plenty of talking beasts at that point.

At her surprise, Maiden shuffled beneath her again, the movement nearly throwing her backwards. Grace gripped the reins haphazardly to right herself, barely catching the edge of the leather in her hands.

Phillip nickered, the noise sounding almost like a laugh, "His Majesty, King Edmund thought you might be startled."

Grace's head slipped into an automatic nod. Any words she had were jumbled at best and caught in her throat. The mixture of amazement and caution jarring her as she leaned sidewards to look at Maiden's face.

"Do you speak too?" She whispered.

King Edmund chuckled, "She does not, I thought one surprise might be enough for you. Maiden is dumb, but very tame."

His words made Grace's face burn in embarrassment. She righted herself immediately, clearing her throat and readjusting her hands on the leather reins in an attempt to look busy, "So, Phillip is an expert then?"

The Chestnut Horse threw his head back and forth in a kind of nod, "His Majesties knowledge of riding is extensive, but mine is complete. There is none that know better the art of riding than those that are ridden."

Grace supposed that made sense, although, from her understanding, sentient beasts were not to be ridden except in the gravest of circumstances. If Phillip held so much knowledge of being ridden, she wondered just how often he and the King rode out together.

Phillip snorted impatiently, trudging forwards to align himself beside maiden again, "Are we riding or not, sire? I'd like to make it back in time for oats, otherwise Filly will get to them all."

"We are," The King soothed with a short pat on the horses shoulder, "Just give her a moment."

Grace looked at him over her shoulder, eyes widened in false surprise, "Oh, are we waiting for me?"

King Edmund rolled his eyes, "Just walk. Sit straight and squeeze with your knees."

She followed his directions soundly, pleasantly surprised – and terrified – when Maiden began to step forwards slowly. Grace attempted to mimic the King's movements to stay upright.

It wasn't so bad after all. Grace found the rhythmic movement comforting as she swayed alongside it. It was a different kind of music.

"That's good," Phillip praised from behind her.

Grace looked back sparingly, the large grin on her face a clear tell that she was enjoying herself, regardless of the anxiety bubbling inside. The feeling was oddly exhilarating and it made her want to do more.

"What now?" She called.

"Just keep at it for now," King Edmund cautioned as he and Phillip caught up, "And you don't need to keep squeezing with your knees anymore."

Instinctively, Grace released her vice like grip. She was grateful to find that Maiden did not stop, in fact, it seemed the Mare trotted a little faster than before.

A warm breeze blew against her cheeks and Grace lifted her eyes to meet it, watching it dance in the leaves of distant trees – taking a few souvenirs along in its gust.

Grace could see how this could be calming; the rhythm of horseshoes beneath her feet, the rolling grassy hills speckled with flowers of vibrant colours she couldn't begin to describe, the late-autumn breeze hitting her face and combing through the ends of her hair. She couldn't imagine coming down from the height she found atop Maiden's back.

"Are you ready to stop?"

Her head whipped indignantly to the King, "It's barely been two minutes."

Maiden seemed to snort beneath her in agreement.

King Edmund started, caught off guard by her cross tone, "Apologies, I meant are you ready to learn how?"

Grace visibly slumped in relief, "Oh. Yes, what do I do?"

The King demonstrated, the invisible reins in his hands lifted towards him in an easy motion, "Pull gently. Don't startle her."

Grace nodded and attempted to follow the direction. Maiden did not stop, however, stubbornly trotting along as if Grace was only a participant in their ride.

An amused smile tugged at the corners of King Edmund's mouth, "Not that gently."

He reached across, one hand wrapping around her right wrist to show her the correct speed and force. Maiden came to a stop easily, however, the Mare was clearly disgruntled by the order.

King Edmund released her wrist as soon as their movement halted and Grace began to feel the lingering burn of his fingerprints on her skin.

"Do you have a fever?" Grace asked. She'd dropped the reins in favour of running her left hand over the offended appendage.

The King sat forward on Phillip. Confusion marred his expression as he ran a hand over the horses mane, "No, I am well. Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing," Grace dismissed, "I just thought your hand felt warm."

On reflex, the King inspected his palm, flexing his hand this way and that and covering it with its twin to be sure, "Feels normal to me. I don't feel ill either."

Perhaps she'd imagined it? Despite the warm breeze there was a chill setting over Narnia and Grace always acclimatised to the cool faster than she did the cold. Someone had once told Grace that her hands should have been numb from the temperature, and whilst she would admit that upon touching her hands to her face they were cold, she simply did not feel it until there was something to contrast it to.

"I guess your temperature simply runs hotter than mine," Grace voiced simply.

King Edmund smiled wryly in return, "I guess so."

The two fell into an awkward silence, Grace adjusting her seat on Maiden's back and gently running a hand over the Mare's blonde mane.

Eventually, the King found his voice again. A short sigh of satisfaction whistling from his throat before he spoke, "Now, how about we try some trotting?"

By the time they finished, the sun had passed its highest point in the sky. Grace could hear her stomach rumble easily over the sound of hoofbeats and chatting as Phillip steered them back towards the stable.

They hadn't gone too far, but it was enough.

Grace felt decidedly better, the fresh air and exercise – she remained unsure that it could be called that as it mainly pertained to sitting – had done wonders for her state of mind. The anger she'd felt hours ago barely tickled the back of her mind as she allowed the King to help her down from Maiden's back, his grip somehow still burning through the thick material of her dress.

"The Stable Hand will show you how to remove the saddle and properly groom Maiden," King Edmund instructed, "All are essential in building a relationship between horse and rider."

Grace watched as Phillip walked into a doorless room, his dark tail whipping the King as he passed. She smiled wryly, "Will you be seeing to Phillip then?"

King Edmund released a drawn out and mockingly dramatic sigh, "I suppose I should. It is part of our agreement."

The Talking Horse in question piped up from the confines of his stall, "If you don't hurry up, Filly will beat me to the oats. Hop to it Son of Adam."

Grace tried to hide her amusement as the King stalked towards the stall, an exasperated but familiar smile on his face.

"I'm coming, I'm coming."

It was there with the Maiden at her shoulder that Grace realised she'd never seen the King like this. It was an odd, yet comforting view of his sense of humour.

The Stable Hand rounded the entrance to the alley of stalls, buckets and hands full of brushes and equipment which Grace assumed were for grooming.

She looked up to the sandy horse by her side with what Grace hoped was a confident smile, "How about we get you cleaned up then, Maiden?"

The horse did not talk back, but Grace assumed that any ministrations would be welcomed. She planned on taking a nice long bath after this, why would a horse not want the same?

Maiden was tied to the stall from two sides. Grace didn't attempt to interfere with that one, scared of going anywhere near the horse's mouth this early into her learning.

The Stable Hand spoke quickly, fingers pointing erratically between the different instruments he'd laid upon a small table. Grace tried to keep up, at some point she'd even asked the Stable Hand for his name, but the Faun replied too quickly and Grace didn't have the heart to ask twice.

She followed behind him, her hands performing the actions after the Faun's ghosted demonstration. It was all what Grace imagined should be common sense; the rear buckle of the saddle must be released before the front, you should fold the straps as you go to avoid getting hit by the loose buckles. In saying that however, Grace knew that if the Stable Hand was not there, she probably would have ended up with a few bruises.

A sigh of relief left her throat when Maiden was properly unsaddled. The horse seemed pleased too, immediately sticking her head into some hay once the metal bite was removed from her mouth.

The Stable Hand ushered a brush into Grace's hands immediately, "Best to do it now while she's occupied."

The Faun's hands ghosted over her sand-coloured coat in small circular motions which Grace mimicked. There was less resistance than she'd imagined, the brush gliding easily and effortlessly under her inexperienced hands.

"After that, you'll move on to this brush," The Stable Hand lifted a small, broom like brush from the table, "and sweep it across like this."

Grace nodded as she watched the

"And then what?" She asked.

"You're finished," The Faun shrugged. He edged out of the doorway, often throwing looks back to Grace to ensure she was following his instructions correctly, "Put the tools away and close the door on your way out."

He didn't hesitate to vacate the entryway. The shadow of his body disappearing like smoke in the shadowed corridor between stalls.

From that moment on, the silence was thick, only broken by the rough noise of the brush circles.

The movement was soothing, requiring little focus and effort to maintain. Grace attempted to focus on the movement of her hands, of the feeling of the cool, hard handle and the soft felt of Maiden's coat under her fingertips.

The Mare sat still throughout the entire event, only moving to dip her head further into the hay she chewed. The movement was intermittent and often startled Grace from her stupor.

A myriad of thoughts passed across her mind; the events of the day, her current situation, the comfortable heat of the King's hand on her wrist - she truly did worry that he was slipping into a fever. The strings of thought tumbled together in her mind, slowly spooling into a ball of compressed colourful yarn. Each thread was stained with the colour of the memories emotion; the mixture of blues, reds and greens making a startling combination amongst each other.

She felt like a child on Christmas Eve, on the edge of something she knew was tangible and great but not knowing which direction it would go. Would her path lead her home and to happiness or was there an entirely different surprise waiting for her?

Grace sighed as the hard brush was dropped amongst the other tools upon the table. She picked up the next as indicated by the Faun, eyeing the material of its bristles with a careful eye. Was this the soft brush? She could not tell. There were four others – smaller and larger than the one she held – which also looked equally up to the task.

In a hesitant movement, Grace turned to Maiden and gently began brushing the bristles upon her sandy coat. There was no complaint, not even the slightest reaction as the horse continued to chew on her hay.

Grace's cheeks spread in relief and the suspension in her chest released as she continued her ministrations. The ball of yarn tumbled further, adding threads of unknown colours to the mix, colours and emotions which Grace dare not to name.

She would not hold out hope that this day had truly changed anything until she saw the result, she refused to. It was a motto she often reflected in life; to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised. It was a better alternative than being disappointed by those you thought you loved.

Amongst the scratchy sounds of the bristles upon Maiden's coat, another set of voices made themselves known. They were not in her direct vicinity – for when she looked there was no one there – but they were close. Close enough that Grace could make out distinct words amongst the monotonous tone of their voices.

"I think she's more spirited than you originally let on," The first spoke softly, "She reminds me an awful lot of Filly."

The second laughed, "She does? I distinctly remember your claim that Filly is the bane of your existence. Does this mean that you do not like Grace?"

"I withhold judgement of your Daughter of Eve, for now. She may yet prove me wrong."

Grace covered her ears. They burned under the weight of her impertinence. To listen to a conversation was one thing, to listen to a conversation about yourself… that was a different beast entirely. She didn't listen to anymore, a feat in itself considering the burning curiosity that roared to life within her.

Isn't this what she wanted? To understand the King? The phrase know thy enemy rang soundly in her mind. If she kept listening would she learn enough to bring King Edmund on-side? Would that be enough to convince him that she was not his enemy, simply a lost human passing through?

No.

It was wrong even in Grace's twistedly wanting mind. The brick did not fit amongst the others in the road she knew lay before her. King Edmund was a shrewd man and Grace was truly terrible at keeping things to herself; her emotions, her thoughts, her secrets. One need but ask and Grace would metaphorically spill her guts, it was a trait she had always hated.

If she kept listening, there was a hundred and twenty percent chance that she would attempt to use the information and immediately be caught out. She knew enough between the two of them to see the scene clearly in her mind and whilst King Edmund held the power and could make the mistakes, Grace could not.

Well… not at least until the King taught her how to ride like the wind, for he would surely pursue her directly the moment he realised she had escaped again.

There was no sound under the cover of her skin, but Grace waited a minute anyway just to be sure. When her hands lifted the movement was cautious, ready to return at the slightest trace of the King's voice.

Thick silence flooded her ears once again, only broken by the sound of Maiden's nickering. Grace pet the Mare's mane softly and whispered, "Phillip said something about oats, I bet you're looking forward to that."

The horse – of course – did not answer and Grace did not wait for one as she untied the strings holding her in place.

Maiden didn't move from her position, muzzle stuffed in the hay brick and too preoccupied with it to notice as Grace gathered the tools and exited the stall.

She chanted to herself as her shoes crossed the threshold; shut the gate, shut the gate, shut the gate. The toe of her shoe was hooked on the bottom of the wooden door as she yanked it closed, barely catching the smooth timber in her hand to soften the noise.

It occurred to Grace then that she had no idea what to do next. She stood awkwardly in the shadow of the stall's isle. Multiple of the gates were open, their inhabitants left to graze or out riding. Grace wondered if one of the owners of these stalls was now with Lucy. The thought taking pause in her soul as she softly wished for the safe return of her friend.

Grace could not see where she was supposed to deposit the tools, nor anyone to assist her in doing so. She simply stood stock still in the middle of the alley, lost and stuck in her own indecision.

A harsh nudge upon her back shoved her forward. It stirred Grace from her thoughts and nearly toppled her over onto the dirt tracked stable floor.

Grace yelped and struggled to maintain balance whilst carrying so many items in her arms. The soft brush fell to the dirt with a delicate thud, it's bristles lopping sideways lazily.

Her head whipped backwards to her assailant, half expecting it to be Phillip or King Edmund in the midst of some practical joke. She was startled to find the long and sharp-eyed face of a snowy horse staring back at her. Their gaze burning with similar bright blue fury.

"I've been calling to you for help," The Talking Horse scolded, "Did you not hear me?"

Grace shook her head, half in answer and half to expel the aggravation she felt towards the creature. What if she had been holding something sharp? What a joke it would be to die before she ever stepped on the shores of Earth again.

"I didn't," Grace replied, "Though I hardly think that warrants a shove."

The Talking Beast had the sense to look slightly remorseful, "You weren't answering me."

"Still not an excuse," Grace scolded. Carefully, she knelt to pick up the brush, shaking it off in the air to expel any dirt in the bristles.

"Begging your pardon, Milady," The Talking Horse demurred, bowing her nuzzle with respect, "I merely wished to ask a favour."

Grace stared after the gesture, somehow uncomfortable with its implications.

"I'm not a lady," She corrected softly.

The Talking Horse's head tilted sceptically, "You're dressed like one."

Grace's neck craned to her rich coloured skirts – marred as they were by the burn of the hot poker earlier that day – it was true, the colours were as bright as any she'd seen on Queen Susan or Lucy and the fit was crafted by the Cair's tailor.

"Virtue of position," Grace explained.

The snowy ears of the Talking Beast twitched, "Oh, so you are not a stable hand then?"

"No," Grace's brow furrowed, "I can't seem to find one either."

She held up the pile of tools in her arms as if for explanation, her eyes still searching the immediate vicinity for where to store them.

The Talking Beast huffed, their light gaze resting heavily on the brush grace had just plucked from the floor, "That is why I was hoping you were a stable hand. I have this itch, you see? It's in a difficult to reach place and I need it brushed."

As if to demonstrate the inconvenient location, the Talking Horse craned it's neck, it's muzzle barely scratching the coat of its backside as it grunted from the effort of extension.

Grace eyed the spot, unsure what she could do to alleviate the situation. The hard brush would probably be the best bet – not the soft bristled one the Talking Beast had been eyeing.

"It's nearly time for the Oat Spread and if I'm late, Phillip will eat them all," The Talking Horse explained, "It is for that reason, and that reason only that I beg for your assistance."

The mention of Phillip tugged at her mind. This must have been the Filly that he had spoken of earlier that day.

The corner of Grace's lip twitched, "Can't eat your oats with an itch on your backside?"

"It just wouldn't be the same."

The twitch grew to a smile and if Grace squinted, it mirrored on her companions face. She sighed, defeat and compliance setting into her being, "I suppose I could run over it a few times."

If Filly could grin, Grace was sure she would be.

Immediately, the Talking Horse ushered them both into the leftmost corner stall. It sat just inside of the rolling stable doors and so had the most air circulation that could be provided in such a small space. This inevitably meant it was colder than the rest of the Stable.

Grace shivered as Filly lined herself up. The motion was familiar to Maiden's, only this horse did not need to be tied up.

Brushing a Talking Horse was unsurprisingly different. Whilst Grace worked on smoothing the bristles over her fine snow flaked coat, Filly spoke to her – or rather, she spoke out loud. Not all of it made sense to Grace; there were some things which she assumed she would learn from King Edmund and other things which Grace could only guess at.

"I told Lady Ezarion that she'd not saddled her horse properly twice before I decided to let it go," Filly chortled, "I suppose my efforts were rewarded when I got to see her fall clean off the mare's back."

Despite herself, Grace's smile peaked through her concentration. She'd moved past the spot where Filly claimed the itch had taken root, assuming it had cleared when the Talking Horse did not contest the movement.

"She wasn't happy about it, let me tell you. Told me my albino coat was ratty and turning grey and that I needed my muddy mane trimmed."

"Seems like an overreaction," Grace observed, "You were only trying to warn her."

The Talking Beast nodded excitedly, "That was exactly what I thought! Though, she may be right about the mane. Do you think it's dirty and overgrown? I'm only asking because I can't really see it, even in a mirror. If you say it is, then I'll get it done."

Grace leant back, her keen sight focusing solely on the flowing threads of white and silver that hung from the horses neck. The mixture glimmered in the dim light of the stall, a metallic silver amongst the alabaster white that reflected and gleamed.

"I think it looks like starlight," Grace commented. She ran her thin fingers through Filly's mesmerising mane, her eyes catching on the sparkling strands as they shifted.

"Starlight?" Filly stirred, "You think so? Phillip used to make fun of me as a young filly, said it looked grey."

"It's not grey," Grace declared, "It's silver. Anyone can tell the difference. I would show you grey if I could, but I covered all of mine."

The Talking Horse nickered, "What are you doing with grey hairs? You look much too young for that."

Grace smiled gratefully, "I suppose in some ways I am. Stress and genetics are the harbingers of my early old age."

"What would a young Daughter of Eve have to be stressed about?"

Unwanted images of her youth came to mind, coupled with the life she'd led before drowning in her bedsheets. Grace shoved them down into the furthest reaches of her mind, instead opting for a different response, "Oh, I have plenty to be stressed about. Age, consequence, a young Filly knocking me over into the dirt."

Filly threw her a mirthful look, "I promise not to do it again, so long as you actually use your ears next time."

Grace laughed as she continued to detangle the knots from Filly's hair, "Good. I'd hate to get on the wrong end of a Talking Horse."

The Beast in question whipped her tail in Grace's direction, the fine strands of silvery white only managing to reach her stomach.

Grace moved out of the way in any case, easily sidestepping the motion as if she had expected it.

"What is your name, Daughter of Eve?" Filly asked.

At the question Grace's head tilted back so that she could meet the horses misty blue eyes, "Grace," She paused for a moment, unsure whether she should continue to make the assumption that this was Filly or if she should ask.

The Talking Beast made the decision for her, "I am Filly. An odious name, given to me as a youngling. My mother was not alive to name me, you see."

Grace's thin fingers ceased their repetitive combing through Filly's mane, "I'm so sorry."

Filly shook it off, "Do not trouble yourself. It is not the fact that she passed that bothers me, it is that I am a mare grown who still carries about such a name. It is embarrassing."

"I'd imagine so," Grace's mouth twisted, "If it is so embarrassing to you, why do you not change it?"

The Talking Beast huffed, "What good would that do? Filly is all I've ever known. It is not as if any of the Stable Hands or other Talking Horses will accept it either."

"Surely, you have the right to your own name?" Grace protested, her fingers returned to the shimmery mane as they worked through a particularly difficult knot.

"Well, I suppose I do…" Filly murmured.

"Then why not pick one?" Grace pressed.

The Talking Horse snorted, "Even if it were that simple, I wouldn't know where to begin."

Grace rolled her eyes as she continued to claw at the knot, "It doesn't matter how you start so long as you do," She craned her head back to look at her companion, "If you want to change your name, Filly, you need to take the first steps."

Filly regarded her statement, an indescribable noise travelling out of her muzzle before she exclaimed, "For such a young being, you're quite persuasive."

Grace grinned, "One of my many great qualities, as you'll learn since we are to be friends."

The Talking Horse laughed.