Seraphina could not help the tiny impatient harrumph that escaped her at his comments about freedom and his idea of what that implied. Typical male, she thought with derision, their mind was so focused on that one ideal of nudity they failed to understand the power of clothing, in which covering up could be just as explicit because it left something to the imagination. There was also no power in nudity for a woman, hers is the body that yields and is invaded and as such is not a demanding or forceful thing as a male body is. It is in denial of the reveal that she is able to keep her power and mystery. Turning her blazing eyes upon him she gazed coolly at him for a moment or two without breaking the silence.

“My feathers are my choice and my right and only one worthy may understand the soft contours of my skin.” Again she paused and her next words took a slightly sneering tone. “I have yet to meet such a soul, I have seen many, from great lords and humble peasants alike and all have been found wanting.”

For a moment she wondered what in the name of all sense was she doing here, speaking to this man of all things, either way this was not turning into a pleasant conversation. Then as quickly as these thoughts came she stopped that inner monolog, taking a deep breath she once again released her tension, all the faults of men could not be blamed upon this one. Also compared to the tiresome bores she had to entertain on occasion at least a conversation with him kept her on her toes. In all honesty she did not think she had ever met a man who on some level did not view her with a sense of objectivity, even her father could be accused of this, in his desire of a betrothal for her; under the fatherly instinct lay the material gain a good match could bring them. So yes it was wrong to bring all blame to this one’s door when he was only guilty of acting as was his nature, at least he did so honestly, which was more than she could say for most. Shaking herself back to the present Seraphina came back to the conversation as they both continued to gaze off into the distance.

“He’s waiting for you, you know,” he grinned as he raised his voice for her to hear. “Out there. It’s one of the oldest tales, the Black Swan seeking the Cuckoo in the forest, looking for the one creature in the lands that would not bow to her. In some versions of the tale, she demands that he bow to her, that the Cuckoo acknowledge her beauty and power and to so love her. When he refuses, she bends him to her will and makes him a lesser creature to serve her. In other versions, he enslaves her! The Night is chained and he is free to torment mortals to his own delight until the other beasts of the world come to ransom her freedom.” 

“Oldest version?” She questioned. “I do not know if it is the oldest but I too know of a differing version of events.” Seraphina chimed as they both watched the moonlight chase the shadows. “In that the Black Swan is held in torment by those that oppress both her and the land. She is given a challenge, if she can make a man confess a love that is true to her then she and all under their tyranny will be free. However if his heart is proved false or his intentions are merely for gain then she will know nothing but misery. Now in the tale the oppressive force think they find the perfect candidate, the Cuckoo, one who is destined to lie and cheat and they think they have set the unwinnable challenge. Now this is where no one could decide of the end. Did the Cuckoo act exactly as was predicted, as was his nature, or did he surprise all and prove himself to be true. No one knows I am afraid, my mother would tell me both endings and would never specify which was true.”

Again the night air tingled slightly against her skin as they spoke of old tales, something about this night seemed to ring with possibilities. The moment was ruined somewhat when the minstrel flung himself down upon a haystack and spoke of the lonely life. Watching as he closed his eyes in a most dramatic manor Seraphina again could not help the sigh. Pausing for only a moment as the silence once again descended on them Seraphina watched him. This peace was swiftly broken by the sound of metal scraping against metal as Seraphina pulled back the bolt to the horses stalls. First a beautiful bay mare with long graceful legs and bright eyes trotted out to stand meekly beside Seraphina who after a quick pat turned her attention to the second stall, where the white stallion was housed. Upon his release the wild stallion reared and plunged for a moment before quietening under her touch as she whickered soothingly at him.

In one swift motion she was upon his back, having used a hay bale as a boost. Her dress although it was not riding gear it was sufficiently flexible to allow enough movement, the soft downy layers that created the feathery bell of her skirt was able to drape around her legs so much that only a couple of inches of ankle could be seen. The black of her skirt contrasting boldly against the stark white of his coat and together they made an impressive sight. The feathers against his flanks almost made him seem like the majestic Pegasus. Seraphina wove his white mane round her hands as she sat across bareback across him and under her command he was as still and calm as a gelding. 

“Well Minstrel,” She called from atop her steed looking as regal as any legendary monarch of old “the only cure for loneliness is company and it is rarely something that will seek you out. You must seek it. Come ride with me and see the wonders that only emerge when land flies beneath you in a swift giddy rush. Come take Milya, she is gentle and will not let you fall. Come ride with me and Finwë and let us see the truth of these old tales with our own eyes.” Seraphina beamed down at him with a smile bright on her lips and her whole face seeming to radiate with excitement at the thrill of adventure that called them this night.