Chapter 50: The Song of Hooves and Heartbeats

The first rays of dawn spilled lazily over the northern hills, casting golden streaks across the snowy clearing. Ralnor was the first to stir, blinking against the morning light. The faint scent of last night’s roasted boar still lingered in the cold air, teasing his senses with memories of flavors now gone. He sat up, stretching his broad shoulders before noticing something amiss.

Dorian and Tache were nowhere to be seen.

Selyse awoke soon after, her disheveled hair sticking out in wild directions. She rubbed her eyes, then squinted at the empty bedrolls.

“Where are the idiots?” she mumbled, standing up and brushing snow from her cloak.

“They’re not here,” Ralnor replied flatly, as if that wasn’t already obvious.

“Well, thank you for that keen observation, Commander,” Selyse shot back with a smirk. “Let’s split up. I’ll check the rise. You—just try not to get lost.”

Ralnor grunted in agreement and trudged off in the opposite direction.

It didn’t take long for Selyse to find them. Cresting a small rise near the clearing, she froze at the sight before her: Dorian and Tache, both fast asleep on the snowy ground, surrounded by several horses from Aelwyn’s herd. The majestic creatures stood silently, their breath misting in the cold morning air, as if standing guard over the two sleeping figures.

Selyse rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a soft chuckle. She waved her hand, signaling Ralnor.

“Found them,” she whispered.

Ralnor arrived moments later, glancing down at the scene. “Well, we found them.”

Selyse arched a brow. “We? I think it’s more of a ‘me,’ sir.”

Before Ralnor could respond, her voice—and perhaps the subtle vibrations of their laughter—stirred Dorian and Tache awake.

The two men blinked groggily, only to be greeted by several large horse faces hovering inches from theirs.

“AHH—!” Dorian yelped, flailing slightly before realizing what he was looking at.

Tache groaned, squinting up at the horses. “Not the wake-up call I wanted…”

Selyse crossed her arms, smirking. “Good morning, lazy hogs. Even the horses wake up earlier than you.”

Dorian sat up, brushing snow from his cloak. “Not exactly the first thing I’d like to see in the morning,” he muttered, eyeing a particularly curious mare sniffing his hair.

Tache grunted as he pushed himself up—and immediately recoiled. “Ugh. One of them… shat on my leg.”

He pointed accusingly at his soiled boot, and the group burst into laughter. Even Ralnor’s stoic face twitched with the shadow of a grin.

With the morning’s chaos behind them, the trio made their way toward the nearby lake. Tache and Ralnor shed their gear, while Dorian couldn’t resist tossing a sly grin over his shoulder.

“Selyse, care to join us?” he called out, voice dripping with mock gallantry.

Without missing a beat, Selyse hurled a chunk of firewood toward him. Dorian yelped, dodging just in time.

“Careful,” she called back sweetly. “Next time, it’ll be my lance.”

Tache and Ralnor exchanged looks of silent sympathy, their expressions saying, You brought this upon yourself.

After washing up, Dorian employed his wind magic to dry their clothes, a sharp gust spinning around them like invisible hands wringing out the dampness.

“Convenient,” Ralnor noted flatly, adjusting his armor.

Tache chuckled. “Right? Imagine if I had magic veins—I’d be spinning around with my swords, creating tornadoes.”

“Ah yes,” Dorian replied dryly, “the legendary Knight of Cyclones.”

The time had finally come—the moment Dorian had been eagerly anticipating.

While Selyse opted to bathe, Dorian, Tache, and Ralnor returned to the clearing where Aelwyn’s herd grazed under the morning sun, their coats gleaming like polished ivory and onyx.

Dorian adjusted his cloak, excitement buzzing beneath his skin. “So… how do I do this? Just pick one and hope for the best?”

Tache stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, usually we’d advise being realistic—approach slowly, hand outstretched, wait for the horse to acknowledge you, that sort of thing.” He smirked. “But considering your little flute concert yesterday, I’m pretty sure you could charm any horse. Even Aelwyn himself.”

Dorian grinned and unstrapped his lute, handing it to Tache with exaggerated ceremony. “Hold this for me, would you?”

Tache took it with a playful bow. “An honor. Holding a bard’s lute is the same as holding a knight’s sword.”

Their banter felt lighter now, the shadows of past conversations fading under the warmth of camaraderie.

Dorian closed his eyes, lifted his flute, and began to play.

The melody drifted through the clearing—soft, ethereal, woven with threads of wind magic. The notes were like whispers carried on the breeze, delicate yet powerful, stirring the very air.

The herd responded almost immediately.

Aelwyn, the great white stallion with a mane like flowing silver, lifted his head first, his piercing gaze locking onto Dorian. One by one, other horses followed, drawn to the sound like rivers pulled toward the sea.

Dorian’s eyes remained closed as he played, the music an extension of his soul. The wind responded, swirling gently around him, rustling through the manes of the majestic creatures. Snowflakes danced in the currents, shimmering like tiny stars.

When the final note faded, silence settled.

Dorian opened his eyes, meeting Aelwyn’s intense gaze. The stallion stepped forward, regal and imposing, his hooves barely making a sound against the snow.

But Dorian shook his head gently.

“I don’t think I can be with you,” he whispered softly, not as a rejection but as an acknowledgment. “You’re meant for a hero’s stead—galloping into battle, amassing glory and fame. That’s not my path.”

Aelwyn seemed to understand. The great horse dipped his head in a noble bow, his front leg bending gracefully in respect.

Then, from the herd, another stepped forward.

A striking black-and-white horse with feathered fetlocks and a mane that flowed like ink against fresh parchment. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, and filled with curiosity—a mirror of Dorian’s own spirit.

Dorian approached slowly, his hand outstretched. “Do you want to accompany me on my journey?”

The horse pressed its head gently against Dorian’s forehead, a connection sparking between them like an invisible thread woven through time itself.

Dorian smiled, his heart swelling with warmth.

“Regis,” he whispered. “From now on, I’ll call you Regis.”

And that was how Dorian met his companion—not just a horse, but a partner for the adventures yet to come.