“well, i can ride a bike and i’m a pretty good swimmer, but let’s hope that you’re right. in any case, that’s why i have you by my side today.” ophelia’s nature is, to say the least, surprising. there’s a chance that it might be a flawless façade, a fine way to attract new clients and ensure that they come back after the initial session, but evren’s seen gentleness, and she’s seen genuineness, and unlike most things they can never be perfectly mimicked nor imitated. gentleness is a damascene rose, sacred, protected, sprawling, soft like its luscious petals. gentleness, just like the rose, knows everything of cruelty, of biting winters and heavy soles that recklessly crush it, and yet cruelty knows nothing of gentleness, of the beauty of the bud. “when was this place built?” she takes notice of the stable, of the serene atmosphere present in every corner. it must be comforting to have such an escape from reality.
accepting the tupperware container, she opens the lid and takes out a sugar cube, placing it on the palm of her hand that she extends towards hazel. “your secret’s safe with me,” she promises even though there isn’t a reason to do so as sleek hands reach forward to pet the patient mare. “i like to believe so. i used to bring stray animals to my house all the time when i was a kid. hedgehogs, birds with broken wings, lost dogs. it didn’t really matter, but it sure made my mum go a little crazy.” she was never allowed to keep the animals for longer than a month, but evren’s actions, no matter how small, eventually prompted her mother to start donating to animal shelters. it’s a tradition that persists even till this day. “right now i only have a cat. bayezid. that’s his name. he spends most of his time lounging on my bed or peering through windows. sometimes though, i do find myself wishing for another pet, like a little rabbit, or even a doe, but given my schedule, i suppose that would be hard.” the best she can do for now is volunteer. “what about you? are you strictly focused on horses?”
“ see ? ” she beams. “ you’re halfway there already. but we’ll go slow today, focus on the basics. getting stuff right. ensuring you’re safe. ” she counts on her gloved fingers as she rattles on. far too often she’s had to bear witness to overeager people on horseback for the first time, taking a tumble in their pursuit of speed. as a result, the inner pocket of her barbour jacket was stuffed with first aid necessities. plasters, individually wrapped antiseptic wipes, bits and bobs to help out with lesser scrapes and ailments. “ depends on which part you’re referring to. the main house is jacobean, from the early 17th century. 1605, i think. you can tell by the parapets, and the little ornamental bits around the pillars. the stables have been through a couple of complete restorations - the initial structure fell victim to english weather and had to be replaced in its entirety. this iteration - ” she taps her palm against a wooden support beam. “ is from the 1950s. or something. it’s old, but a toddler by comparison. ” and perhaps, when the money trouble came to a halt, when famine released its icy grip on her, she’d rip the entire building down again. build back. provide more space for the horses. it’s a thought tinged with melancholy, and ophelia finds herself having to shake her head to rid herself of the thought, like a dog coming home from a rainy walk.
the admission causes ophelia’s face to crack into a grin. under different circumstances, perhaps she could trust evren. maybe she could find kinship in this maze of deceit. maybe, if she allowed herself to let her guard down a little, she still could. and while evren seems to be radiating with genuine warmth, ophelia is plagued with the knowledge that she is unable to sense root rot. there’s a deep-seated desire in her to see the good in others, to draw haloes on morally compromised figures and to invent redeeming qualities. how is she to know that this is not another case of her own wish for friendship painting their interactions in rosy hues? “ oh! a cat! he sounds like he’s got a poet’s soul. ” hazel gently presses her muzzle towards the stranger, having sensed the presence of a treat, and ophelia stifles a giggle. “ you could always get another cat? they’re pretty self-sufficient, so even when you’re busy they’ll be okay. sometimes, i get the sense they even appreciate the solitude. i’ve got a husky, rosie. after uni, i spent some time volunteering at my local shelter, and well ... i couldn’t walk home without her. she’s a little scared of the horses, still, but we’re working on it. ”
