Despite the differences threatening to overshadow them, encourage dissonance where there should be peace, every child of Garon’s gravitated towards the stables. An unexplainable draw pulling them to animals larger than their childhood selves, commonality threading through the tangled lines composing their lives. Leo is of the opinion that horses signify freedom. From stuffy castle walls and political games—none of it mattered once the ground flew past in a blur underneath pounding hooves.
(Of course it mattered. Every move they made either curried or lost favor. Balancing a few precious moments of mostly untainted air with filial duties became their own little game.)
Camilla, as ever, remained the sole outlier, seeking freedom amid gray skies. Leo had once tried flying the vicious wyverns Nohr so prided themselves on. To gain attention from the sister so aloof, or distinguish himself from the golden brother, Leo’s never fully figured out. And he’ll never need to know; one stomach-dropping launch away from solid ground settled the debate. And while he can’t deny the advantages to viewing the battlefield as a bird, snap decisions are far easier to execute when among fellow soldiers.
Invisible strings may have originally influenced his path along with a desire to follow in Xander’s footsteps, yet Leo doesn’t regret his choice. Never meeting Faustus seems a terrible life to lead.
Black ears flicker in brief acknowledgment at the prince’s approach. Classes are over, and though there’s a stack of papers awaiting his attention on his desk, someone else is more deserving. Leo enters the stable with a soft click of the door behind him. Rests a hand on the stallion’s silky neck, murmuring a soft hello.
“They treating you well, boy?” Leo runs a practiced eye over his horse. He trusts the stable hands, expects they’d take excellent care of every royal blooded student’s mount here, though one can never be too careful.
A small commotion shatters the bubble of peace. Leo steps away from Faustus’ side, brows pulling together in concern. Three stablehands lead a group of short, squat…horses across the cobblestones. Hooves and low whinnies echo, interspersed with frustrated grunts from the poor stable boys.
The fuzzy animals continue their parade; Leo spots a student watching with fascination. “Excuse me. Do you know what kind of horse they are?” He asks, indicating the foreign mounts.
