'Sir, yes, sir!' Pyotr announced once Josef had finished giving out his orders. The Baron's orders, rather, for that was who they served, and why not? It was just another form of fighting, at the end of the day. Grabbing his weapons from next to himself and stowing them on his body, he stood from where he'd been sitting, listening to the radio along with the tall blond Karl, and headed out, not to the front of the building, but instead to a door leading out to its back side. Here was where the stables for the local cavalry horses were kept, and here was where Varvara was located. She was easily spotted, one of the few black horses in the stables round these parts, and all the more beautiful for it.

'Varvara!' he called, agitating her for a moment before he arrived, passing into her stall so as to soothe her. '[I know, I know, my dear,]' he murmured into her ear, speaking in Russian, the language they were both accustomed to, '[it is dreadful that you have not been allowed to stretch your legs enough. But you are a good strong horse, I know, for I have ridden you many times before. We're going out to do some work with our fellows, Varvara,]' he said, smiling at the horse as she gazed back, whether or not she knew what he was saying. '[You will be able to get some exercise whilst we are crushing the peasantry down, and once we get back, you shall have a nice hot mash, yes? Does that sound good? I will first need to saddle you up, as the Americans say, so just return when I call.]'

Then he allowed her out, and for a brief minute, she ran round the field the horses would frolic in, giving him time to open the gateway out and gather all the necessities for ensuring she remained under control, saddle, stirrups, bit and reins; and once she returned to him, he attached them to her body with practiced ease, finally lifting himself into her saddle and encouraging her to ride out the gate, dismounting only to close it behind them again. And once that was done, it was simply a matter of riding out front to meet his comrades in arms, ready to head out and do the dirty work of crushing this rebellion.