71 for Blitzen and Gala :D
For them, it’s a bit like dancing.
Blitzen had always been pretty okay at dancing. Nothing fancy, but he knew the basics and enjoyed the rhythm, the clack of hooves on the wood flooring of the gathering hall, the closeness…
So it’s easy for him to step into place beside Gala – her patiently waiting for him with her back straight, hands folded neatly at her waist, a woven basket packed with goodies hanging from her elbow, and looking so pretty and nice - and take the proper position. Hooves apart. Shoulders back. Head held high.
He clears his throat softly and bumps his elbow against hers. She doesn’t startle and jump anymore, thank the Light, but she does smile, small and reserved. Her free hand finds his offered arm a little clumsily and slips down to his wrist, their palms meeting, fingers lacing together, her forearm resting upon his as he lifts their twined hands until they point forward like a compass needle.
Then, they walk. Each step deliberate and counted. Left, right, left, right. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. A slow waltz of a pace is set today, with them having nowhere to be except right here and also way over there in the hemlock grove for a picnic lunch, but they’re not in a hurry.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
Sometimes it’s one, two, three, four when he wants to press his shoulder to hers or a one, two, three, four that Gala teasingly slips in that always messes up his tempo and makes his hooves clatter to catch up. He usually lets it slide - no better apology than her mischievous smile - but right now, Blitzen takes revenge with one, two, three, four and sends them lurching slightly apart, clasped hands valiantly holding them together until they right themselves back into place. He snickers. She blushes.
“Left,” Gala tells him, turning their arms like a rudder, because she knows Knot Hill by heart. Knows how far to the general store and the doctor’s office and the gathering hall and everything in between. Knows where the muddiest patches of the roads are in the summer and the corners where the ice builds up in the winter. Knows it so well that Blitzen would gladly follow her gentle guidance with his eyes closed and ears deafened.
Regardless, he’s still a tad slow on the uptake and their barrels bump into each other as they turn onto the street. He laughs at his klutziness, apologizes, and begins the count anew. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
Blitzen asks about the basket between a three and four. He tries to guess what she made for them. Berry tarts? Eggplant sandwiches with that amazing pesto? Was that thermos full of wild leek soup or coffee with a bit of melted chocolate mixed in?
“I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” Gala says, rubbing her thumb across his knuckle, “Do have patience, won’t you, dearest?”
He feigns pouting even though she can’t see it, before flicking his tail like he was casting off the false disappointment. “A’course, love.”
It’s not like he’ll have to wait much longer anyways. They’ve just stepped into the clearing on two, Gala brightening once her hooves leave behind dirt and sparse cobblestone and press into sun-warmed sedges and wild flowers. He’ll have to pick some of the latter for her later. Maybe tuck them into her braided hair or bury the stems into her white fur until she was spotted with yellows, purples, and blues. That’ll be fun.
