23rd August, 1895 — The grounds, Selwyn Manor, Wales
There was a second set of stables tucked away on the far west side of their grounds, much larger than the other stable containing their usual coach- and riding-horses. It was attached to a few shaded paddocks, and was home to a few winged horses. A couple of Abraxans, a pair of chestnuts and a grey Granian.
The grey Granian mare, Calypso, was foaling. She had been left in good hands with the usual stablehand, who had been watching for it all week. Fortunately today Trystan did not have to work, so he had woken early and traipsed down to the paddock with the sunrise, where Calypso was still in the final stages of her labour.
The stablehand filled him in: it had started in the early hours of the morning, and that he had called out a creature healer from Avalon Glen to give both mother and foal a once-over after, just in case of complications. The creature healer was with her now, apparently – Trystan clambered over into the paddock they were using for the birthing, and saw her there.
That was a coincidence indeed; a warm, quiet pleasure simmered in his chest. He had kept in touch with Mrs. Davenport to some extent – an acquaintance that was mostly one-sided; he had sent birthday wishes to Marigold last year, and her mother back in January, never mind whether they were acknowledged – but he had not manufactured another meeting, because he had been – trying to let his curiosity die a natural death, and trying to adhere to his better nature.
But here Avery Davenport was, on his grounds, without his even being aware. She was a little preoccupied at the moment though, so, Trystan only approached Calypso and the creature healer carefully. “How is she getting on?”
The grey Granian mare, Calypso, was foaling. She had been left in good hands with the usual stablehand, who had been watching for it all week. Fortunately today Trystan did not have to work, so he had woken early and traipsed down to the paddock with the sunrise, where Calypso was still in the final stages of her labour.
The stablehand filled him in: it had started in the early hours of the morning, and that he had called out a creature healer from Avalon Glen to give both mother and foal a once-over after, just in case of complications. The creature healer was with her now, apparently – Trystan clambered over into the paddock they were using for the birthing, and saw her there.
That was a coincidence indeed; a warm, quiet pleasure simmered in his chest. He had kept in touch with Mrs. Davenport to some extent – an acquaintance that was mostly one-sided; he had sent birthday wishes to Marigold last year, and her mother back in January, never mind whether they were acknowledged – but he had not manufactured another meeting, because he had been – trying to let his curiosity die a natural death, and trying to adhere to his better nature.
But here Avery Davenport was, on his grounds, without his even being aware. She was a little preoccupied at the moment though, so, Trystan only approached Calypso and the creature healer carefully. “How is she getting on?”
