9th July, late afternoon; Sparks and Shoes

His forge blazed hot nearby, adding to the day's smothering heat, but Sergeant Duncan appeared oblivious to it. His one concession to the warm nature of his work was to strip down to his shirt, the sleeves of which had been rolled up past his elbows in an effort to protect the linen from sparks and burning embers. His right hand gripped a sturdy hammer that came down in a regular rhythm to clang against the glowing red end of a nearly-repaired horse shoe.

At length, he lifted the iron tongs that gripped the shoe and turned them this way and that, judging the accuracy of his work, before shoving the red-hot shoe into a nearby bucket of water. The resulting heavy sizzle and thick cloud of steam made the man appointed as his assistant grin. That was the third shoe suitably finished within an hour. Nearly a record.

"Like t'see you touch five in an hour, Sarn't," the trooper said, stoking the forge's fire.

Duncan merely grunted, setting both hammer and tongs onto the anvil so he could pull a rag from his trouser pocket. The old square of linen had once been white, but years and much use had stained it permanently brown. The sergeant swiped it back across his bald plate, only just suppressing a grimace as he did so. His increasing lack of hair was ever a sore point with him.

"Those other shoes ready for fittin'?' He asked.

"Seem so. They'll have had long 'nuff to cool."

Good. It was well past time the three shoes were put back onto the horse that had lost them. "Bring the old bugger round, then," said Duncan and the trooper moved off to fetch the horse in question. It would be easy work to get the beast shod again, really. Hopefully this time the shoes would stay in place.

He turned back to the forge and used the tongs to draw out a brightly-glowing strip of iron. One of his long rasps had broken and he was trying to forge it back together. If it was possible, keeping the equipment in good nick was more difficult than maintaining the troop's horses. Duncan picked up his hammer and began to swing, privately enjoying the clash of of hammer against iron. He could do this all day, if given his way.

His first customer of the day was a bit undersized - that went both for the horse, more rightly a pony, and the rifleman leading it. The beast was slightly lame on the right foreleg, but gamely trotting on, and only became fractious when it came near the sparks and the noise the hammer struck from the glowing iron.

The young rifleman stopped it a few yards away and waited politely until Duncan was done with whatever he was doing and would notice him.

A wee slip of a grasshopper had come up, leading a wee slip of a horse. The latter was not moving well but whatever suffering it was enduring seemed forgotten when it got closer to the noise of Duncan's hammer.

"Af'noon," the sergeant greeted, shoving the as-yet unrepaired rasp back into the fire. Tools could wait when there was a living beast in need of aid. He held a grimy, stubby-fingered hand out to the pony to smell. "What's brung you an' him round, young'n? He got bad feet?"

Freddie understood only imperfectly what the man was saying, but he interpolated the question accurately and pulled out a shoe from under his tunic.

"Balthasar has lost his ... iron? Can you ...", he made a gesture of fitting and hammering the shoe to the hoof. He held up a small leather pouch.

"Mylord ... the Captain Torrington says ... 'his compliments, and he ... you will be properly com-pen-sa-ted'."

The production of a missing shoe and a description of the poor creature's state confirmed Duncan's initial suspicions, though it always helped to hear such things.

"I can sort him out nicely, laddie," Duncan said, privately amused by the little grasshopper. He nodded at the pouch. "You can keep hold of that fer now. I don't take payments till the work's done."

(OOC: Sorry, very slow in replying atm. )

Freddie kept hold, and lightly tucked at the rope to make the still rather suspicious looking pony step closer. For some reason he although found it necessary to translate everything Duncan had said (as far as Freddie had understood it) into German for Balthasar's benefit.

"He ... has not shoes often yet had. Only one time. He is not liking them", he explained apologetically to the other man, while trying to encourage the reluctant pony.

Not liking the shoes, eh? There were a few possible explanations for that. None of them were explanations Duncan viewed favourably.

"Let's us have a look a' you, laddie," he said to the pony, holding out a hand, palm up, for the animal to sniff. "Must be yer feet ain't been took care of proper, but I'll sort that out direct like. Have you feelin' right's the rain 'fore you knows it."