In Which Bernardo Lets It Stay

January 11, 1175

"Looks like Isidro's horse has made a friend," mused Bernardo as his cousin's pinto nuzzled the perlino mare to his right. "Christ, have you ever seen a more even-tempered stallion? I've seen old milk cows more aggressive than this one."

Augustin sniffed. "'Nardo, it's Isidro's horse. Like that kid would go anywhere near a horse worth the trouble."

"Would you, though?" Bernardo placed his hand on the back of his neck and rubbed. He himself was not the most sensitive of people, but where Augustin was concerned, even he felt the need to compensate. "If what happened the last time he was near a 'horse worth the trouble' happened to you?"

"Of course I would." Augustin sneered down his oversized nose as he always did; it wasn't quite so impressive while he was seated, but the smug sentiment that came with it was the same as ever. "As would any man worthy of his own name. That's why Uncle is considering naming me his heir."

...eh? That was a surprise. Then again, it wasn't. "But what about Is--?"

Augustin shrugged. "What about him? Look, I have a certain amount of... pity for the kid too, but surely it's not so difficult to understand that a man such as our uncle might not want to bequeath everything he owns to a scrawny little half-Saracen with a bit of a limp, a big ugly scar and a morbid fear of horses."

"Yes, but..." But what? Men like Domingo weren't apt to favor boys solely on the basis of them being his sons. On the contrary, perhaps that made boys like Isidro seem like even more monumental of failures. Unable to find his argument, Bernardo crossed his arms and slouched as best he could on a bench without a back. "I don't know. It just doesn't seem right that the kid might get nothing."

His brother replied with a deft wave of his hand. "Maybe. Then again, I can't imagine he expects much out of life at this point."

"No, I really don't."

Bernardo's throat ran dry as Isidro prowled out of the inn, shuffling somewhat as he always did in the cooler months, a grim Casimiro at his heels. How much of that had Isidro heard? Enough. The kid's expression was inscrutable. Maybe Augustin was right. Maybe there was a point past which one simply did not care and it was well behind Isidro. "Cousin..."

"Oh, shut up, Bernardo. My father already told me." Isidro turned away and stepped toward the corral fence and placed his hand on his horse's nose. Bernardo stood and took a few steps toward his cousin, but stopped short near the center of the path. Knowing Domingo, he had already told Isidro--twice, no doubt. Twice... a week... since the accident. And knowing Isidro, he hadn't said a damn thing. He probably wanted it to stay that way. "Anyway, he'll be done puking up last night's dinner soon. You'd better start packing up."

"Already done." With all the grace of a duke or earl, Augustin rose to his feet and spread his gaze amongst the rest of them: Bernardo... Casimiro... "Don't get me wrong, I love a good crusade as much as anyone, but I would prefer it if this one were efficient; I do have a pretty young intended to go home to, after all."

Casimiro's hand balled into a fist. Swallowing, Bernardo cast a wary glance Isidro's way, but his cousin only turned away from the horses and looked Augustin in the eye. "Congratulations, then."

Augustin smirked. "Thank you, Cousin. Now, how about we go upstairs and get our things, then saddle the horses and--"

"Uh... hello."

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