12 Chapter Eleven

Standing before a dark chocolate brown stallion dressed in proper riding attire, Nemyria debated how in all of heck she was going to get into that saddle.

The thing stared her in the eyes, despite being 5'7", and Nemyria did not understand at all how she was supposed to get on its back when it was about four and a half feet in the air. It didn't help that the scent of food distracted her.

"We have a block you can use," Tiberius offered.

"I'm not using a block," Nemyria replied, "I can figure it out."

He raised a doubting brow, and she rolled her eyes. Striding to its side, a hand running along its flank, she stopped before the saddle. Examining it, she frowned. The horse snorted, becoming impatient.

"Oh, hush," she snapped, "I'm figuing it out."

It stomped a hoof against the ground, shaking it's head as it snorted at her. Her frown deepened as she reached for the horn of the saddle. Shoving a foot in the stirrup, she took in a breath, and tried to swing herself onto the saddle. The horse did not move, allowing her to make a fool of herself as she slipped and fell back.

Tiberius caught her before she could hit the ground. His arms around her waist, he asked, almost teasing, "Need a little help?"

"I hate you," she replied.

He chuckled, and he helped her straighten, her feet finding the dirt floor. Glaring back at him, she waited for instruction.

"You were doing it right," he said, "You just slipped at the end."

"So, grab the horn, put my foot in the stirrup, and get on the horse?" Nemyria asked.

He nodded. "I'll help you up."

She reached for the horn and again stepped into the stirrup. Hauling herself into the saddle, she felt Tiberius push her up, and she swung a leg over the horse. Blinking, she found herself safely in the saddle.

"Well," she said.

"Not as hard as you thought, is it?" Tiberius asked.

"Oh, hush," she replied, rolling her eyes.

He grinned, and he motioned for a horse of his own, a white and chesnut mare. Tiberius stroked the horse's neck, mumbled, "Hey, Buttercup. Long time no see, huh?"

The horse nuzzled him, putting a smile on Tiberius's lips. Nemyria snorted. "Why'd you give me the sassy horse."

"Because he's only calm when he rides with her," Tiberius replied, "Plus, I figured your sassiness would even it out."

Nemyria snorted, mumbling, "You'd be a better fit for that, Toby."

Chuckling, he shook his head. Pressing a kiss to the mare's muzzle, he moved to her side, and mounted in a few swift movements.

Noticing Nemyria's frown, he said, "What? I make it look to easy?"

"No, you make it look like you're teasing me when you do that," Nemyria replied.

"Maybe I am," he said, smirking.

Her frown grew. He spurred his horse into a light trot, the horse Nemyria rode following. She yelped at the sudden movement, throwing her arms around the stalion's neck, who proceeded to snort at her. In return, she stuck her tongue out at him.

"You have reins, love. And the horn to hold on to," Tiberius said, looking back at her.

"You think that flimsy scrap of leather is going to help anything?" Nemyria questioned.

"If he's going too fast, you can slow him down, Tiberius offered.

She frowned. "With a strip of leather."

He nodded.

"How?" Nemyria questioned.

"Lightly tug it back. Lets him know you want to slow down."

She frowned, looking down at him. He did not react, and she looked back to Tiberius.

"Yeah, I'm not buying it," she said.

"You can try it if you don't believe me," Tiberius offered.

She shook her head. "I don't want to mess with this horse right now."

The horse snorted, as if laughing at her. She frowned, her eyes narrowing. "Sassy prick."

Again, the horse snorted. Nemyria fell silent, letting the horse carry her along the trail. Tiberius's horse slowed until it walked beside hers.

"His name is Dark Oak, in case you were wondering," Tiberius said.

She snorted. "Dark Oak?"

"We were running out of names, okay? When you've got a bazillion horses, you find you come up with stupid names," he replied.

Nemyria lifted a brow toward Buttercup.

"Technically, she's Buttercup the eighth," Tiberius said, "I always have a horse named Buttercup. She happens to be my current Buttercup."

"Ah," Nemyria said, nodding, "Do they all come from the same family line?"

"Indeed," he replied.

She nodded. Looking to Dark Oak, she asked, "Can I call him Do?"

Tiberius snorted. "Do?"

"Dark Oak. D. O. Do."

He chuckled, and the horse made some noise of displeasure. His chuckles devolving into laughter, he said, "Yes, Nemyria. Yes, you can call him Do."

The horse made a deep neigh, something that sounded almost like a threat, and Nemyria said, "Oh, calm down, Do. It's just a nickname."

The horse sent her a glare, and Tiberius slowly calmed.

For a time, the walk was quiet, almost pleasant. Beautiful trees with vibrant green leaves and pale flowers passed them by, just enough sunlight passing through their branches to light the path. Birds chirped, and little furry animals ran across the path before them, animals Nemyria had never seen in person.

In story books her parents would read her, yes, but never in person. One never saw anything more than dogs, cats, and rats when living in the slums.

Truly, the scenery was almost... awe inspiring.

Little bugs that glowed flitted around the dawn, tiny fairies and butterflies with them. A glistening creek followed the path, the waters clear, the rocks colorful. Vibrant mosses and flowers sprung up here and there on their path, and little stones lined the path, vines weaving among them.

Story book esc indeed.

Snapping out of her awe, she found Tiberius smiling at her.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's beautiful," she replied.

His smile grew. "Then you'll love where we're going."

She raised a brow, but he offered no answer as they continued on.

Soon, she spotted the end of the tunnle formed by the trees, the faint sound of a waterfall floating into her ears.

As they approached, she found that the tunnle opened up into a small clearing, a pond that fed the creek taking up most of it. The waterfall tumbled down from layer of rock to layer of rock until it reached the pond, the rocks just as colorful as they'd been in the stream. Bright mosses clung to the wet rocks, grass at the top of the cliff.

"What's up there?" Nemyria asked.

"The plains. We generally take the horses up there to run, but it's too early and slippery to take them up the cliff," Tiberius replied.

"So we stop here, then?" she inquired, almost sounding... disappointed.

"For now," he replied, "I do have to feed you breakfast."

She blinked. A smirk slid onto her lips with the realization.

So that was why he'd refused to bring her breakfast.

Dismounting, he pulled a basket and a rolled up blanket from the saddle bag.

Well, that explained the scent of food.

Placing them gently on the ground, he led Buttercup to a tree, where he tied her to a branch. Dark Oak followed, obedient as Tiberius tied him to a branch nearby, close enough to the pond to let them drink.

"So," Nemyria asked, "How do I get off this thing?"

Dark Oak snorted.

"Shut up, Do," she said.

He snorted again. She frowned.

"Just swing a leg over and jump off," Tiberius said.

"That's not what you did," Nemyria said.

"Because Buttercup gets spooked easy, and I didn't have someone to catch me," Tiberius replied.

She sighed, but eased her leg over to the other side of the saddle. Pushing off, she hopped off of her horse, right into Tiberius's arms.

He held her against him, his arms under her thighs, and he smiled up at her. "Have fun?"

"I'm hungry," she replied.

Again, he chuckled, and he set her down. He kissed to her cheek before returning to the blanket and the basket. Half throwing the blanket into the air, he eased it to the ground, then flattened it out and set the basket in the middle. He waved her over.

Settling onto the blanket beside him, she asked, "So, what did you bring?"

"Yes," he replied, and proceeded to set every single breakfast food imaginable from the basket.

Toast, some odd smelling toast, waffles, strawberries, grapes, pancakes, oatmeal, milk, chocolate, sasuage, bacon, everything.

"You expect me to eat all this?" Nemyria asked.

"I hear werewolves have big appetites," he replied.

"I'm only a fourth werewolf, remeber," she said.

"Well, I'm here to help you eat this, then," he replied, smiling.

She chuckled, and she stabbed a strawberry with a claw before popping it into her mouth.

Goodness, did she love strawberries.

Scooping up a few, she dropped them into the bowl of oatmeal. Grabbing a spoon, she began to eat. Tiberius set aside a bit of everything, then made a plate for himself.

"So, my lovely Nemyria," Tiberius said, "I find I don't know you quite well. Tell me about yourself."

Swallowing a mouthful of strawberry and oatmeal, she blinked.

What was there to tell. All she was, was a bastard-born nobody who grew up with adopted parents.

"As in what you like. Maybe stupid stories about your childhood," Tiberius said.

Oh. Right.

"Well, I like oatmeal," she said.

He chuckled, looking to her already half-eaten bowl, "Oh, I think I gathered that."

"Nonsense," she replied, and went on, "I like pastel colors, too. Riding's fun, I guess, and I like to read. Or, well, listen to people when they read."

He lifted a brow. "You do?"

She nodded. A mischievous grin spread over his lips, and he said, "Then, how would you like me to read to you every night, before we go to bed?"

"Like a bed-time story?" she asked, lifting a brow.

"Indeed," he replied.

A smile spread over her lips. "I'd love that."

"Then it shall be done," he promised, taking a bite of a sasuage.

She dipped her head in thanks, and returned to her bowl. Upon finishing it, she reached for the odd-smelling toast Tiberius had sectioned off for her. Sniffing it, she took a bite, and shoved it into her mouth.

"Never had french toast before?" Tiberius asked.

She shook her head, shoving a second piece into her mouth. He chuckled, and stopped her from grabbing anymore. "Try something else before you stuff yourself, love."

So she shoved the bacon down her throat instead. A few minutes later, she decided she had managed to inherit the werewolves appetite, as the food quickly disappeared.

Tiberius, watching her eat his grapes, said, "You, ma'am, need to slow down."

She replied by shoving a handful into her mouth. Shaking his head, almost amused, he went on, "Goodness, you're a messy eater."

If the crumbs and cream and juice on her maw didn't show that already. Finishing the grapes, she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, then proceeded to lick her hand clean.

"Would it be rude to tell you that you eat like a dog?" Tiberius asked.

"It's the truth. It can't technically be offensive," she replied.

"Well, you eat like a dog," he stated.

She chuckled. Flopping onto the blanket, her belly full, she sprawled out. Taking a nice break, she closed her eyes, just listening to the sound of the waterfall and the birds and the animals.

Someone moved above her, blocking out her light, and she cracked her eyes open to see Tiberius, his forearms braced by her head, his face close enough to hers to kiss her.

"Yes?" she inquired.

"Did you enjoy the meal?" he asked.

"I did," she replied.

"Good," he said, leaning his brow on hers, "May I kiss you?"

It was quite tempting, especially with his breath smelling like breakfast, and she debated the question. Opening her mouth to answer, she paused as something caught her eye. Looking to the side, she stiffened.

"What?" Tiberius asked, following her gaze.

Across the pond stood a dark, demonic figure, watching them with curious eyes.

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