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Amy is out in the stables again. She's dragged a bale of hay to just outside her horse's stall, and is sitting on it, reading to the horse from a book of legends and fables from Phantasmorania.

She's hoping she'll find something that would be a good horse name, or that the horse will seem to like, but so far, the horse mostly seems interested in figuring out why Amy has decided to sit on her lunch.

"Don't you like any of these?" Amy asks, hopefully.

The horse sniffs what seems to be a negative.

Amy, with a sigh, starts the next story.

She'd probably quite like to be interrupted.

[ooc: ~~And the mun flees for dinner. Back later.~~Back.]

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He shakes his head. "Just coming in to warm up a little. My name's Preston."

"It's lovely to meet you, Preston," she says, with a slight curtsey. "And so long as you don't paint any of the horses, I can't imagine anyone would mind your using the stables to get warm."

"Paint the horses?"

"It only happened the one time," says Amy. "And it got taken care of without too much fuss."

"Why would somebody paint a horse?"

"She thought they were prettier that way," says Amy. "She's about three years old."

"...that explains why someone'd paint a horse." He grins. "Is she your horse?" He nods to the Nameless Horsie.

"She is," says Amy, and her smile gets brighter. "She was a gift from my brother. And I'd introduce you, but I haven't figured out what her name is yet."

"Not sure if I can help you there."

Amy shrugs. "I'm sure she'll tell me what it is when the time is right. I'm hoping it's soon, though. It would just be easier to know."

"...she doesn't talk, does she?"

It's a legit question.

Of course it is. Amy's brother is a Narnian. She knows about Talking Beasts.

"Not human language, no. She's a horse, not a Horse."

Has Preston learned to hear the capitals?

Nope.

"How can she not be a horse if she's a horse?"

He should. It's a handy skill to have in Milliways.

"I mean, she's a small h horse, not a capital H horse. She's not a Talking Beast or anything like that."

"Oh. Okay. Well...is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

[ ooc: sorry about that. am having...fatigue issues. oy. ]

[ooc: No worries. I just got back from dinner anyway!]

"It's just . . . what it is. And, well, a Talking Horse wouldn't be ridden, at least, not without permission, from what I understand. So I think it's probably a good thing, that she's a horse."

"Guess talking horses would tell you they don't like the way you're riding them, eh?"

"I would imagine so, yes," says Amy. "Though we haven't any in my world. You would have to ask my brother about it."

"Where are you from?"

"I'm from Phantasmorania," says Amy, "and you probably haven't heard of it. Almost no one has. But if you know Earth, it's not far from France in my world. You?"

"I'm from Earth but I've never heard of Phantasmorania. I work in New York City."

"I've heard of New York," says Amy, "but I don't think it exists in my Earth. And what is your when, Mr. Preston?"

"1933." He blinks. "And you?"

"Twenty-fifth year of the reign of King Hulderbrand," she says. "We don't use the same calendar, but I'm from well before you."

He's curious to know by how much. "What's it like there?"