From the transcript of the interrogation of Florian Quinn by the Academy Prime: “Most of my interactions with Madeline were purely incidental. To tell you the truth, sir, I don’t think she liked me very much.”

  “Let’s just do this and not talk, okay? The faster we get through shoveling shit the faster we can get the fuck out of here.” Madeline told Florian before turning toward the station where she grabbed one shovel, one manure fork, one bucket and only one set of gloves. Where Talia had grabbed an extra shovel and given it to Lane, and Lane had grabbed an extra set of gloves and given them to Talia, Madeline barely gave Florian a glance. No matter, Florian collected his own items and met her outside the first stall.

  And what a stall to start.

  The first stall belonged to a beautiful Wylderwynd Pure, a gleaming white Warhorse bred to take on the Rotforces in all their iterations. Pure’s were a rare breed, hailing from the northern province of Wylderwynd, a small nation known for harsh winters and the highest standards. Fewer and fewer Pure’s were bred each year and their cost could be astronomical.

  Florian noticed Madeline’s hesitation to get into the stall with the gigantic Warhorse and decided to take the lead. He unhooked the wooden stall door and went inside, approaching the Pure slowly and with confidence. The Pure simply looked bored as much as a horse could look bored, allowing Florian to attach a lead rope, not huffing or stomping its feet. Florian guided the horse outside the stall and let him free in the paddock.

  When he returned to the stall, he found Madeline inside working away. “I didn’t need you to do that,” she snipped at him.

  He put his gloves on and then grabbed the fork from where he left it leaning against the wood. “What?”

  “I was going to get the horse out.”

  Florian frowned. “What does it matter? I did it.”

  She stopped shoveling, leaned against her fork and stared at him. He couldn’t look away. “It matters because you don’t have to do things for me. I can do things.”

  “I never said you couldn’t,” Florian sighed, “Rot, woman, if it means that much to you why don’t you go get him from the paddock and bring him back when we’re done?”

  Madeline narrowed her eyes. “No, I’ll do the next one. You’ve already established a rapport with the Pure.”

  Florian stifled a grin, not feeling the need to twist the blade. “Sounds good.”

  “Good,” Madeline agreed, then went back to work.

  To her credit, and to Florian’s moderate surprise, Madeline didn’t shirk her duties one bit. If anything, she worked extra hard to prove that she was doing as much or more than Florian. Even the prospect of getting dirty with literal excrement didn’t look to bother her one bit. Florian caught her wrinkling her nose once - just once - the smell particularly overwhelming in the Pure’s favoured corner, but he noticed nothing else.

  Multiple times, Florian attempted to start a conversation with her. Every time he asked an innocuous question, - how are you liking the Academy? How were your travels from Grinnrock? Do you like the coffee here? - she stonewalled him. Even when he tried to ask questions simply to garner a response - what did you have for breakfast? - she offered one word answers without stopping her task. Eventually, he got the hint and gave up trying.

  With the first stall mucked out and refreshed, Florian went back to the paddock and returned the Pure to its stall, taking one extended moment to admire the majestic creature and give it a light pat. His father had always wanted a Pure. A surge of schadenfreude buzzed through him remembering his father’s disappointment when year after year the orders for Pure’s got filled and left him empty-handed.

  After a final glance, he moved to the second stall where Madeline waited outside the wooden door staring warily at the horse inside. This one, a dark brown one, had an attitude.

  “What’s wrong?” Florian asked Madeline whose eyes remained fixated on the gelding.

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  “Nothing,” she replied in a terse tone. Her feet remained rooted in place.

  “Are you going to get the horse to the paddock?”

  Madeline shot him a look. “Yes.”

  “Would you like me to do it?” Florian asked, knowing full well Madeline had too much pride to admit her fear.

  “No,” she said in a firm voice. “I’ll do it.”

  Florian asked again, this time in a different way. “Would you mind if I do it? I actually enjoy getting close to the horses.”

  Madeline frowned and adjusted her hair, pulling the bun tighter. “You do?”

  “I do,” Florian confirmed.

  “Then I guess that’s fine. If you want to.”

  It took all his willpower, but Florian didn’t roll his eyes. He just calmly entered the stall and took the horse to the paddock where he caught up with Lane doing the same task for a brief second.

  “How’s it going?” Lane asked in his rumbling way.

  “Terrible, dude. This girl fucking hates me, I have no idea what I did to her but I can’t get two words from her. I dunno man, I keep wondering what I could have done to get her to react this way and I’m coming up blank.” He let out an extended sigh. “There’s a Wylderwynd Pure in that first stall though so at least that was pretty cool. How’s it going with you?”

  Lane’s expression grew darker the more Florian spoke until he reached the part about the Pure. Then, Lane’s eyes lit up. “There’s a Pure? I always wanted to see one of them. Are they as cool as I’ve heard?”

  Florian nodded. “Cooler.”

  “No way! Bro, I’ve got to go check it out. Bet Talia would want to see it too.”

  They started walking from the paddock back to their stalls.

  “Going well then?” Florian asked again.

  Lane shrugged. “Better than you, I think,” he said, laughing. “But from the sounds of things, it would be hard for things to be going much worse.”

  “You’re telling me,” Florian said with another sigh. “Back to it, then.”

  They each returned to their stalls, continuing their work in earnest. Madeline looked at Florian when he entered and nodded with an expression that Florian chose to interpret as one of thanks. It probably wasn’t. Florian simply nodded back and grabbed his fork and bucket. They got into a rhythm, cleaning, refreshing, retrieving the horse from the paddock and then repeating at the next stall. They worked long enough for the smell to fade into his nostrils and he worried that it attached itself to his clothes or worse, his very skin. He didn’t want to smell this way for any longer than he had to.

  Madeline found a way to not touch any of the horses yet she stared at every one before Florian guided the animals to the paddock. Florian’s forearms, biceps and triceps burned with the exertion of repeated forking, shoveling and steering. He’d also decided that despite Madeline’s obvious frostiness, he wouldn’t respond in kind. If she wished to be borderline rude to him, well, he could control his response and that response would be friendly. No matter what. He also decided that she’d be the one to start the next conversation if it killed him.

  That decision led to an excruciatingly long period of silence that only ended when Madeline swore and almost fell over. She’d slipped on the floor and had to throw her hands out for balance. While nobody would confuse her stumbling with a dancer's grace, she did manage to avoid falling over into a pile of shit. She steadied herself but walked with a very small yet noticeable limp from then on. Florian closed his eyes and shook his head. Stubborn woman. He revised his vow to include her cussing as beginning the conversation and from there, he dared to ask her if she was okay.

  “Fine,” she snapped back.

  Remembering the other vow he’d made to himself of being friendly no matter what, he urged his face muscles to curve into a smile. “You’re limping.”

  “No I’m not,” Madeline argued.

  Florian took a deep breath. “Then walk to me. Bet you can’t.”

  She glared at him from across the stall, not breaking eye contact, her eyes afire. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you can’t walk to me without limping but you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Florian challenged.

  Madeline took a step forward, hiding the pain building in her face from holding back her limp. She slowly walked toward Florian who stood tall, watching her. Short step after short step she advanced.

  She almost made it.

  A yard from Florian she stumbled on her bad ankle, arms flailing awkwardly and then-,

  Florian caught her.

  His hands hooked underneath her flailing arms and he stood her up on her own two feet.

  “Let go,” she hissed at him and he did at once.

  “You know, the proper thing to say when someone stops you from falling over is ‘thank you’. Or, you might say ‘you were right, Florian, I shouldn’t have tried to prove that I’m fine when I’m clearly not’. I’ll accept either.”

  Madeline gritted her teeth and made a face that made it look like she’d swallowed a lemon, but she forced out two words. “Thank you.”

  Florian nodded. “Do you think it’s broken?”

  The shock of saying thank you softened Madeline the slightest amount and she shook her head, loose hair from her bun shaking with her. “No, I don’t even think it’s sprained. Just need to shake it off for a minute, I’ll be okay.”

  “There’s fresh hay in that corner if you wanted to sit for five minutes? We’re almost done here, I can finish up, no problem.”

  “Guess I can’t smell any worse,” Madeline grumbled.

  They didn’t make it three minutes before a scream cut through the scratch of Florian’s work.

  “Talia,” Madeline said, voice full of concern. She rose to her feet adrenaline fueling. “That was Talia. We have to go see what’s wrong.”