The Mountain Horse's Name
She couldn't imagine that small mouth chewing the same dark, tough horse meat as the burly men around her.
He probably needed something more special. At least better than horse meat—something softer and fresher…
"That's not necessary. It's my first time eating horse meat, but…"
The person in question cut into the conversation with an awkward, stiff voice.
"So I'm even more curious."
She had no desire to be treated like a fussy, troublesome pet. Tichite bit off a large piece of jerky as if to cut off the Duke's unnecessary worry at the root. It didn't tear easily and she had to chew several times, but it was softer than she'd braced herself for.
What does the Duke think of me, anyway?
Tichite popped the bitten end of the jerky back into her mouth and mulled it over while she chewed.
Was he ignoring her, or was he teasing her?
Either way, the man seemed to have nothing left to say after watching the woman calmly chew the jerky. He stared at her for a while through the narrow gap in his expressionless iron mask, then turned and walked off toward the stream.
She couldn't begin to guess what expression he wore beneath the mask, or what he was thinking. He was impossible to read.
"It's because of you that the Duke can't take off that uncomfortable helmet."
Zama scolded her from the side. Only then did Tichite realize why the Duke had moved away—to eat more comfortably in his own way.
But that wasn't because of her. She had never asked him to keep the helmet on, nor had she ever screamed or trembled at the sight of his face and put silent pressure on him.
Still… if I weren't here, he wouldn't have to hide inside that shell like a snail, would he?
Plenty of people had wanted to get rid of her before, but this was the first time she'd become someone someone wanted to avoid. The feeling was strange.
Women make him that uncomfortable.
Tichite asked Zama for another piece of jerky, intending to approach the Duke. When she said she would take it to him, Zama shot her a look of utter disapproval.
"The Knight Commander doesn't eat horse meat."
Zama snorted as if to say that if it were otherwise, he would have brought it himself.
When Tichite asked why, he answered readily.
"He's extremely fond of horses."
It wasn't a matter of taste, but of principle.
Tichite's eyes, still chewing the jerky, turned toward the mountain horse enthusiast. The man looked like he would trample anything in his path, human or beast, so his fondness came as something of a surprise. Perhaps a delicate heart hid behind that fierce armor after all.
She finished her share of the jerky, wiped her hands on her trousers, and waited for the Duke to finish his meal. When he seemed to have taken his last bite and lowered his visor back into place, she quietly stood and walked over to him.
"Um…"
When the woman softly called his name, Nyx flinched and looked back at her.
He didn't ask what she wanted. The narrow eye slits of his helmet simply stared straight down at her, as if waiting for her to state her business.
She couldn't tell whether the gaze held hostility or tension, but the important thing was that the black helmet no longer felt frightening.
Tichite reached out and stroked the horse's broad neck the way the Duke had. The short, smooth coat gleamed. It was clearly well cared for.
"Your horse is really beautiful. So big, and gentle. And very…"
The woman approached with an awkward topic.
"Healthy-looking."
She patted the horse that had carried them all this way without showing any sign of fatigue.
Nyx pulled his hand away from the horse's body as if her touch had sent some repulsive force through the animal's hide. He answered her question stiffly.
"Is it a stallion or a mare?"
"…A stallion."
The muscular build and flowing mane were powerful and splendid. Perhaps the rule of only accepting males into his service applied even to beasts. The thought struck her as faintly ridiculous.
Tichite continued stroking the horse, her voice tinged with concern.
"Won't he be exhausted? He's been running since dawn."
Nyx answered with the proud tone of a parent boasting about his child.
"A mountain horse doesn't tire from something like this. He's different from the horses you know."
"Because he's bigger?"
"His heart is larger, and his lung capacity is better. Sheer size isn't the most important factor."
Nyx ran his hand down the horse's barrel as if praising something invisible within.
"His burst of speed across open ground isn't bad either, but a mountain horse's true strength shows in long marches. On rough terrain he has a unique gait that's second to none—his ability to choose exactly where to place his hooves is remarkable."
"He looks sturdy, and apparently he's clever too."
"Yes. That's exactly it."
Once the subject of mountain horses came up, Nyx grew visibly more animated. What Tichite had thought was a dull topic was actually the one Nyx could speak about with the most confidence. Like most men, when Nyx Farrow discussed something he cared about, he tended to grow overly enthusiastic and talkative.
"To be more precise, this fellow is a warhorse. Loudhill warhorses receive especially rigorous training and care, so they have every chance to hone their natural talents. Bloodline matters too, of course. Warhorses aren't bred indiscriminately. When we campaign outside the castle, we try to keep the group all one sex if possible. In situations where the horses are unlikely to return alive, we mostly take stallions, but the older breeding stallions are an exception even then. They stay behind to perform the more important task of siring the next generation. The average lifespan of a mountain horse is around fifteen years, but with good care they can live past twenty. Their prime begins at three and they retire at ten. It's a rather short career. A mare can bear anywhere from five to ten foals in her lifetime. So, if possible…"
The Duke launched into an unprompted lecture. Tichite watched him quietly. She was certain she had chosen exactly the right topic. The man's unusually brightened voice was proof enough.
Tichite listened attentively as he moved from the mountain horse's temperament to its habits and then its broader ecological traits. When he began explaining the history of their domestication, Nyx suddenly stopped.
The conversation had been entirely one-sided. He had grown far too excited over a subject the other person might not even find interesting. Realizing he had been chattering away by himself, Nyx's words died in his throat. A wave of belated embarrassment washed over him.
"I… went on about something boring."
"Women don't usually care for this sort of talk…"
The once-enthusiastic voice sank rapidly. The man trailed off, mumbling.
Tichite, who had listened carefully even to that, felt a small spark of irritation at the repeated assumption about what women liked. She wished he wouldn't draw such arbitrary lines around a woman's interests.
Instead of saying "No," however, she asked another question.
"What's his name?"
Tichite asked while stroking the horse's warm, reddish-brown coat.
Honestly, she was more interested in the name of the horse standing beside her than in the ancient history of horses.
"Hm? Ah… This one's name is Dumbul."
"Dumbul?"
"When he was young, he kept jumping into every thicket he saw…"
"Haha, so he was a mischievous little colt."
When Nyx told her the horse's name and the story behind it, Tichite laughed.
The woman showed no sign of boredom and asked about the horse again. She even smiled. Her flushed cheeks and white teeth shone. The sight of her smiling face gave him courage. Thinking that perhaps it was all right to keep talking, Nyx felt his confidence return.
He pointed to the other horses in turn and introduced them.
"That white one is Cream. And that fellow over there is Jilju-Pokju-Kwaeju."
"That name is strange."
"I didn't name him."