Afternoon, 5th day

Sergeant Grey was a happy man. On reaching a fair sized town today he had set up shop in a well appointed smithy. The owner seemed benign enough and had watched him shoe two of the companies horses with interest and using a lot of gesturing and pointing at things they had talked about the horses.

Grinning, he leaned against the anvil. The horses were still fresh, the weapons still sharpe and he had seen to good shoeing before they left Lisbon. There would be time to visit a tavern later.

Hercules had cast a shoe. Wellesley cursed and dismounted, taking up the stallion's reigns and bridle in his hand and leading him on at a walk. He had been out riding with Colonel Brandon when the horse had stumbled on their way back into the town. A passer-by directed them to the nearest smithy, and the General was somewhat relieved to see one of the cavalry farriers had already set up shop.

"You there, trooper," He led Hercules up to the smithy. "Couldn't give him a new shoe, could you? Back right foot; cast it not ten minutes ago."

Sgt. Grey was surprised to be hailed by General Wellesley himself. He'd have expected the leader of the peninsular army to send his horse with an orderly. That he came himself, and only minutes after the loss, impressed the sergeant.

"Yes, sir." He called his assistants, troopers Urquhart and Colquhoun, and took the reins from the General.

"Did you happen to bring the old shoe, sir?"

"No, I didn't." Wellesley frowned as the farrier took the reins from him and Hercules shied his head. "Went back to look for it but no sign. Careful how you handle him; he's high-spirited."

"He's a fine lad." Grey grinned and offered his flat hand to the horse to sniff. High-spirited, indeed. This horse was the result of centuries of careful breeding and he looked every inch the aristocrat he was. Dry, veiny long legs, powerful chest, beautifully arched neck and long lashed eyes. Eyes that were looking at him with suspiciousness.

"Knows exactly that he'll have to hold still for something unpleasant, dosen't he."

"I would not rely on it," Wellesley said flatly. "He kicks. Broke a stable boy's arm a week ago."

He stroked along the horse's neck in an attempt to calm him.

"Easy there, boy," he murmured softly. "This shan't take long."

"You are a good boy, aren't you." Grey moved foreward to pat the big chest.
"Let me have a look at the damage, will you."
He handed the reins to the waiting trooper and stepped closer to the horse. Never loosing touch of the flank and keeping up a steady stream of pleasantries, he moved to the hind right leg. Checking for swelling or heat he then ran both his hands down.

"Hey lass, what's the matter?" Bella had been acting odd ever since late morning. At first it seemed she was just in one of her less obediant moods. An understatement which progressed through the passing hours. And in the afternoon Timothy just barely avoided a bite from her when she went after her abdomen. Another attempt and a kick had the rider concerned.

He slipped of her back and patted her on the neck. He studied the poor animal that showed signs of discomfort. He had asked if there was an able 'horsedoctor' that he could consult. If Bella hadn't just rolled with full gear on her back and looked miserable, he might've decided to wait a day and let it pass. But her behavour was increasingly on the downhill.

So he was pointed ahead where the cavalry farriers were to be stationed.

With the mare walking along at his side, every so often gazing and touching her side with her nose, he made his way on foot and limp, and was glad to see the directions were correct. There was already a man with his horse, and by the uniform he was wearing, not a mere trooper or cavalry man either. The horse that he brought was a lively one and looked nervous at the handling by the sergeant. A fine creature by the looks of it, but if it was anything to judge by his movements, not at all tame.

Hercules was being skittish, tossing his head again and snorting, and Wellesley took the bridle from the farrier's assistant, murmuring comforting nonsense and fondling his dark velvet nose.

"Easy now, easy."

[P.S. I'm in mufti, not uniform - i.e. traditional plain blue coat and black bicron]

[Ah, apologies!]

He approached the skittish horse and his rider and upon recognising the man, saluted sharply. He glanced at Hercules and wondered how such a horse would act in the time of danger if it was as nervous now, that he was solely to be treated by the men on his side.

Bella watched the other horse, and flexed her ears in his direction. Held in place by a hand on her reins. She drew her front hoove across the ground several times and raised and lowered her head abruptly pulling at her present rider's arm.

At the introduction of the mare Hercules stopped tossing his head at looked attentive. His ears pricked forward and he leaned over to sniff nearer her.

Wellesley noted with disapproval that he had also decided to show off.

Bella's ears were directed to the back as she lifted her head somewhat, nostrils flaring. Then she began to lower her head ever so slowly, sniffing faintly at Hercules. Her left ear turned in his direction , while her right was trained to her side for a moment before it too joined the first.

Willoughby observed in silence, seeing that the mare was not jerking and pulling as earlier at least. She did again nip at her own side as if to present her discomfort, before turning her head looking at the other horse.

"I apologize for Hercules," Wellesley said to the huzzar whose mare his stallion was looking increasingly interested in. "But I am afraid that he has always lacked a sense of what constitutes as good behaviour."

"He does has a sense of a wild one, sir." The hussar smiled gazing at the stallion with admiration. He was a beatiful horse with a spirit to match or surpass. Not a horse for a first time rider and even an expert would probably have his hands full if the horse did not take to him. Then again stallions were often harder to ride and control than mares or geldings.

"A lively spirit is nought in need to be apologized for." Pets the side of Bella's neck, having the mare shake her head slightly. She arched her neck to the side, observing Hercules with slight interest. By human standards she was acting like a sure lady, but men were keen to place human emotions to all that moved, and some things that didn't.

" A fine bred horse , sir, If I may be so bold. A beautiful disposition, strong, shaped muscles..." He gazed at the animal.

The stallion tried to dance away but Grey kept a firm hold.

"There is no heat or swelling jet, sir," he called out "he shouldn't go lame at all."

Next he shifted his hold into the position to lift the hoof.
"Hoof!" he warned the horse about what he was going to do and used its next movements to pull the hoof firmly onto his thigh.
Immediately the entire weight of the horse rested on him. He had to chuckle. This was a cunning old campainer.

"Down!" he moved slowly to give the horse time to regain his feet and replaced the hoof on the ground.

Staightening his back Grey announced: "the nails have completely come out, I won't have to dig for splinters. And he has normal, healthy hoofs, so a premade iron will suit him fine."

Turning around he was surprised to see the general himself holding and calming the horse. There were enough officers who left the care of their horses completely to their servants or troopers, only using the animals to show off their wealth, but not caring about their welfare on a personal level. His estimation of general Wellesley rose another notch.

[OOC Which commands do you use in english? These are translations of what we would say]

[OOC: No idea - most of the farriers I've seen at work don't tell the horses anything and all, just pick up the hoof with maybe a 'Come on, stop mucking around' if the horse tries anything.]

"And a cross-grained beast," Wellesley said with mock disapproval. He stroked down the stallion's black nose again. "Irish Thoroughbred, though; none better."

The farrier gave his report, and the General nodded in approval.

"I feared he would have done himself an injury, though he did not appear to be limping."

[OOC - I've seen mixed, haven't seen much though, probably depends of the person workin'?]

The horse looked fine and was thus confirmed to be. Bella on the other hand was starting to give her attention to her discomfort again and had just stretched uncomfortably. He turned and walked a slow circle with her, before she would gain the idea of another roll- Thenhe stopped again, touching her nose softly. A gentle rub against the more sensitive of flesh looked to ease her, her eyes averting in part (or rather one eye, the other not seen) towards her Hussar. "Easy.." He whispered gently to her. "Wait a little more, n' we'll see what's the matter with you." And then he was silent again, drawing his hand against her furred neck more out of habit and in comfort.

Well, Hercules distracted by the mare was doing something to keep him from kicking the farrier; although it seemed he was still making trouble all the same. He gave a weary sigh and patted the stallions neck, which prompted a snort.

"What is the matter with her?" he asked, indicating Bella with a lift of his chin. He did wonder what a stray hussar was doing with this Division, but the state of the boy's uniform, his limp, and the un-cavalry nature of his mount went some way to providing an answer.

"I've a guess , sir." He looked to Bella and gently stroked down her side. " She's started to act so since morning, though at first I thought she was just in poor temper. She isn't the most patient of ladies." The mare might not have understood, still she did make a sharp yank on the reins and nudged her Hussar as if making a point.

"Well, if it's not just her temper, she might be having trouble with her belly. Been staring, biting and kicking at it. " The mare looked restless, and barely distracted by the stallion, to whom her ears were perked again. "Do hope it's nothing serious.. and just a slight belly ache. " He looked to Hercules and smiled slightly:" Lost his shoe, did he?" He nodded to the animal." How, sir.. if I may ask?"

By now, a group of children had accumulated at the entrance to the blacksmith's shop, fascinated and amazed. Hercules was the most magnificent creature they had ever seen, and they would have been no more impressed by the presence of a unicorn coming to the smithy for a golden shoe. The smith, their friend, was bombarded with questions about who the horse belonged to, and was it very fast, and what was its name, and was it a boy or a girl, and would the horse go into battle, and did every English soldier get to have a horse like that, and how many French had the man in blue killed?

Brandon was keepingwell back from the children, waiting patiently in the saddle as the sergeant went about persuading the stallion to behave long enough to be fitted with a new shoe. Hercules, however, seemed to be growing less restless as the little creatures surrounded him, reaching up to pet and stroke along his flanks. Wellesley was pleasantly surprised - he had never known Hercules to have anything but the foullest of temperaments (something which oddly seemed to have drawn him to the beast in the first place), and even gave a thin smile as the stallion reached down to snuffle curiously at the hair of a small girl, who shrieked in surprise.

Willoughby observed the little children smiling at their antics. He was surprised to see Hercules have a soft spot for them, and slightly amused. To think such a spirited horse that would not think twice to break a man's arm, knock them unconscious or throw its rider off, Sir Arthur perhaps exempt from that, would be so gentle and patient with the young ones.

He shook his head , placing a hand at his side, leaning in part against the tall beam. Who would've thought.

The blacksmith seemed to be telling the children something rather impressive, for they all exclaimed with voices of amazement and turned again to look at the general and his horse. When he next spoke, they all turned to gaze at the hussar, and a few of the children began babbling questions. One young boy was pointing at Willoughby's side - his sabre - with eager curiosity.

With a small smile, finding the young'uns endearing, Timothy reached to his side to bring forth what sparked the boy's curiosity. He motioned him slowly with his hand, to come closer. The sabre was still in it's crooked shape, for he intended to ask about it's repair or replacement just that afternoon, here at the blacksmith's now that he thought about it - Bella's discomfort actually distracting him from his intentions.

He knelt so that might not feel scared nor intimidated and then held his sabre so it was in clear sight. What on earth where they asking? He wished he'd have understood.

"Ohhh!" the boy said in quiet awe. Then he turned and shouted for another boy to join him - his brother perhaps. He pointed at the damage to the blade, talking excitedly to his friend and looking up at the hussar for confirmation.

"Ohhh!" his friend replied, jabbering his own hypothesis of which the only distinguishable word was "francês."