The Pavee's Camp [Open to all]

[Niamh Dunlevy]

Country: England, not too far from the Welsh border
Current Time: 17:25
Weather Conditions: A cool breeze sweeps across the landscape, and with it, a few nimbus clouds that may signal oncoming rain. The temperature is somewhere around the 10 degrees Celsius mark (50 degrees Fahrenheit for some of you), and it will get nippier as it gets darker. Shelter is the best thing to head for, just in case it does begin to pour.

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"Stafa talosk misla, stafa talosk misla, how you are such a pain, la-dee-da-dee-daaaa..."

Yards away, Drummer was grazing in the fields, the grasses made moist and juicy by the spring rains. The sun was low in the horizon, evening beginning to set in as she carried a plucked, gutted pheasant over to a lit fire. With another one of England's infamous storms coming in, Niamh didn't have much time to set herself up some supper, and water-proof the tent set up nearby.

Tossing a few sticks into the fire, the tinder smoking wildly from the sheep dampness of the wood, the Pavee took her knife and cut off a slab of meat from the fowl in her hand. It had been easy to catch; the poor thing's wing was broken, and it had been nearly dead anyways, having flown into a barbed wire fence. Niamh shuddered at the memory of it; a similar thing had happened to her beloved Drummer a few weeks before, and it had been only out of a farmer's kindness that the mixed-breed draft horse had been saved. Unfortunately, Niamh would probably never be able to venture back to that area again, with everybody there now knowing her face and having set up a notice to watch out for her.

But that was typical; Pavees were just more Gypsies for many of the country folk to watch out for. If they knew better, then they would probably be a little more respectful. Fat chance though, what with all their prejudice, and their high-and-mighty attitudes and -

Niamh suddenly shook her head. What was she thinking? She was wasting time, whining in her head like that. Food needed to be cooked, and there was a tent she still needed to put the finishing touches on. Spearing the meat with a sharpened stick, digging the other point into the ground and letting the meat roast over the fire, the Pavee grabbed a nearby canvas tarp and headed over to her tent. Drummer lifted his head for a moment to see where she was going, but then went back to grazing, seeing that his mistress was only doing camp chores. The rest of the fowl sat on a rock, foolishly left out in the open where something (or someone) could get at it, but the Pavee had a lot on her mind right now.

Thankfully, the place was secluded. Foxes and other small predators would be the only thing for Niamh to worry about, as well as wild dogs. Drummer, however, had proved to be an effective deterrent in the past, and the young woman was mostly relaxed. Humans, however, could sometimes be a bit more adventurous then the wild beasts of the world...


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Translations:

Spring rain, spring rain

[Scott Evans]

Thump.

Lt Scott hit the ground hard, he was on a exercise with his battalion, and having some experience dropping from the air, he had been selected to lead a small element that was to land and attack the objective from the rear.
Unfortunately, because the night was very black, as all night drops go, his platoon was spread out over the dark English countryside, and he could not see any movement as he dealt with his parachute.
From the air he had seen a small flicker of light in a northerly direction. Not sure what it was, for it might have been an enemy encampment, he decided it would be best to take a closer look at whatever it turned out to be.
Trying to walk stealthily, he made his way towards what he judged to be the direction in which he had seen it, but it was not easy going for he had to climb a few fences and ford a small stream, not to mention tread carefully not to disturb different farmhouses.
If he could have seen it, the area would have looked most beautiful, but he did not have time in any case, and the darkness was too thick to warrant any enjoying of the scene.

Hearing movement, he ducked behind a low wall, and peered around it, trying to get an idea what was in front of him. Thankfully it was just a few cows, and not an enemy, so he continued his journey, praying that he might meet up with some of his platoon.
The chilly breeze was not held up well by his light coat or paratrooper helmet, but thankfully he had the foresight to have stuffed a pair of gloves into his webbing before setting out for the aircraft.
Coming to a road that seemed to head in the general direction he was, Terry clambered up the bank and carefully made his way down the dirt route, noting with satisfaction that on this dark night, there would be little chance of him being silhouetted. He moved on for what he estimated at twenty minutes when from up ahead the engine of a small vehicle was heard, and two lights bounced towards him, closing quickly. Jumping off the road just before the light beams swept over where he stood, he flattened himself in the ditch, and if he would have looked, he would have seen a jeep flash by, then darkness again.
Waiting a few minutes to make sure it would not stop, he climbed back onto the road, and picked his way along until he sighted a campfire, and he figured it was what he had seen from the air.
He headed off the road, and made his way behind a fence which he followed until he could see that around the fire was some other sort of camp, with a horse, which looked tethered, though one could not always tell, nearby.
Slipping into a nearby bush extremely carefully, he scanned the encampment down the sights of his Enfield very carefully. He had not been briefed of any 'enemy' troops in the area, but one could never be too cautious, those chaps up at Battalion headquarters were always trying to keep their officers brains sharp, and this might be an obstacle they had secretly placed. Seeing as they sent them out on this horrid of a night, he would not put it past them...

[Niamh Dunlevy]

She was being watched.

The Pavee knew it was basic human instinct for one to be excessively jumpy when alone, but she had heard something, and Drummer had whinnied. Not bothering to tie the last rope down to its peg that would stretch the canvas covering over the tent, the girl slowly moved back towards the campfire, giving a small, sharp whistle. Drummer came trotting forward, snorting.

"Drummer, min'urt kadog," the woman ordered, giving her horse the command to ready himself. Although she had wiped the blood off of her knife, it still would look intimidating to some in the firelight, and that was what she wanted. Thieves, Pavee-haters, and other unsavoury characters were most certainly not welcome in this camp.

"YA GOTH THEN SECONDS THO GITH OUTH HERE, YA EEJITH, AN' GITH ON T'E GROUND!!" Niamh bellowed, glaring into the darkness. "I'LL SIC DRUMMER OVER HERE ON YA IF YA DON'TH! DRUM, UP!"

As if out of a novel, the magnificent draft horse reared out, letting out an ungodly shriek that echoed throughout the landscape. His magnificent, feathery hooves scythed through the air, and he landed on the ground with a loud thud, hard enough to break someone's bones if they got in the way. Niamh smiled, hoping that would be enough to coax their little "visitor" out of hiding.

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Translations:

-Now stone

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OOC - Rhys, feel free to pop in any time. After you do, the posting order (as I understand it) should be me, Scott, then you.

[Scott Evans]

Scott was quite convinced now that it was not a battalion ruse as the response from the camp was quite astounding. A lass with jumped out and started yelling in some foreign sounding language, and her horse was thumping around like he enjoyed it. Hardly protocol for defending a camp against intruders.
Knowing it was best to make himself known and not risk the hooves of a frightened horse, and being the gentleman he was, stood up quickly and called out,
“No worries ma'am, apologies for frightening you so.” He walked carefully and slowly into the firelight so he could be seen, and recognised as no common ruffian.
“I thought you were the enemy, and I was merely taking precautions.” He could have swore that the lady in front of him muttered under her breath “Enemies, here? Whats come over this lot they call soldiers...”
He continued “Might I trouble you to let me use your firelight so I might take a peak at this map here?” To demonstrate his intents, he dug out the operations map, the one that would tell him where he was headed, and show the best route to get there. On it was marked where he platoon was headed, but he had not found any source of light enough to read it until this point, and he felt it would be best for him to take a quick look while he had the chance, then leave this poor, probably homeless, soul in peace for the night.

As he waited for her reply, he took stock of his surroundings, and reasoned he had stumbled over some type of gypsy camp, though the one in front of him was the only one in sight, hardly what would be the case if there were any more about. He also noticed that there was a small stream flowing close to two hundred feet away, and that there was another, smaller road running parallel to the one he had just left. It seemed to curve towards the previous road, looking like it crossed it about 500 feet ahead, just behind a low stone wall that ran along side the smaller road.
Feeling a small amount of heat from the fire, even though he was not really that close to it, he waited as the stranger in front of him sized him up.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

Niamh smirked as the man complied, patting Drummer gently on the nostrils to let him know it was okay. The "visitor" then emerged from the bushes, masculine-sounding with a Canadian accent, and Niamh only laughed.

"Bloody 'ell! Yer justh a soldier! T'ought you were a mugger t'ere for a minuthe, buddy!"

The man was a British soldier, as indicated by his uniform, juuuust visible in the firelight. He didn't seem to be a threat, but rather, lost. He was asking whether or not he could use the woman's fire to read his map. He had also apologized for thinking Niamh as an enemy, and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Eh, go 'head, use t'e fire. Ye do be an odd fella, now aren'thcha?"

Niamh stepped back and away from the fire, allowing the man a clear view of it, as well as the wooden spear with meat on the end that was currently roasting. Drummer followed en suite, as loyal as ever - there was no need for a lead rope when Niamh was in command. The horse had been with her since she had been ten, when Drummer was but a mere foal. Their bond was best described as a siblings'; Drummer was her no-nonsense brother, and she was his little-big sister. It worked nicely that way.

"Say, ya look hungry. Do you wanth a bithe o' bird?" the Pavee asked, smiling. Walking over to the sharp spear in the ground, she gestured towards it, the piece of fowl meat on the end nearly done cooking. If he was here, then he might as well grab something for himself, right? No shame in sharing the bounty...

[Scott Evans]

“Thank you ma'am, that is a very kind offer you make, and I may take you up on that, just a little piece though.” he said motioning with his fingers a small piece. “I have my rations if I get very hungry.”
Setting his helmet to the side, he carefully positioned the Maroon Beret on his head, much more comfortable than the issued helmet, and took a quick drink of the cold water in his canteen.
Sitting down and pulling out a pencil, he spread the map carefully on his knee and looked intently at his surroundings and back to the map, trying to figure out where he was. Using his compass, and making unintelligible markings (the best way to thwart spies or enemies into whose hands the map fell), he soon had an idea of where he was and the surrounding terrain. After a few more minutes of study, he looked up quickly and said, “Oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Lieutenant Terry Scott, whose fine company do I have the pleasure of sharing?”
The stranger was poking around in the the fire, probably just trying to keep it from blowing out in the cool breeze and at first did not seem to notice the comment. It might have been that she was considering how much she could trust this chap who literally stumbled over her camp, but Terry did not want to press it and went back to his scribbling.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

“Thank you ma'am, that is a very kind offer you make, and I may take you up on that, just a little piece though. I have my rations if I get very hungry.”

"You're welcome, laddie," the Pavee said with a smile, bending down and checking the meat one last time. It was now fully cooked, and she carefully pulled it off the stick, wincing slightly at the heat of the meat's juices. She tore off a small piece with her fingers - she didn't want to use the knife, since she didn't have any hot water and the moment and she had used it to carve up the pheasant she had caught. Niamh couldn't accidentally spoil a soldier's food, now could she? It would be almost treasonous!

"Here, t'is is a thender piece," the young woman said, walking over and handing it to her guest, who had just finished scribbling on his map. "Hope ith ain'th thoo though for ya. Careful; ith's sthill hoth."

The woman would then wait for the man to take the piece, then walk back over to the fire, which was beginning to die down a little. Tossing in a few pieces of the driest tinder she could find, Niamh sighed contentedly, then stirred around the coals a little. Sure enough, the tinder was set aflame, hissing and smoking wildly, and the fire's life was lengthened.

As the Pavee stood up, she heard the man introduce himself. Lieutenant Terry Scott, he called himself; it seemed almost fitting for him, chipper-sounding as he was. Niamh smiled over at him in the darkness once more.

"Niamh Mairi Dunlevy, thravellin' horse thrainer, ath your service. Thryin' to find ya place t'ere, lad?"

Stepping around the fire, Niamh walked over to Terry, and pointed with one threadbare-gloved finger towards a road.

"If ya keep thakin' t'at road, you'll be in Wales by t'e mornin', dependin' on how fasth you go. T'eres a bunch o' small house-bunches 'round here, an' you'll find a place called...'Llanymynech' or somet'ing like t'at, righ' on t'e border if you go nort'westh a lil'."

[Scott Evans]

After her initial fright, the young lady in front of him seemed to be quite friendly now, and handed Scott the small piece of meat she had cooked as she introducing herself, “Niamh Mairi Dunlevy” and a horse trainer.
Graciously taking the offered the piece of meat, and nodding his head in thanks, he nibbled slowly and enjoyed the warmth soaring through his still slightly cold frame. As he was doing this, Ms Dunlevy strolled around the fire and pointed out the way into Wales.

"If ya keep thakin' t'at road, you'll be in Wales by t'e mornin', dependin' on how fasth you go. T'eres a bunch o' small house-bunches 'round here, an' you'll find a place called...'Llanymynech' or somet'ing like t'at, righ' on t'e border if you go nort'westh a lil'."

“So that is the direction I must head,” Scott replied. “There is a little bridge.... here” he said as he poked his finger on a point north of where he had figured himself out to be “and my platoon must take that by 0600 hours when the land element of our exercise is slotted to hit that point and need a crossing.”
“The hard part is the fact that the airborne element is scattered, but they all know the plan and they should be heading for that bridge themselves where we can meet up with them.”
Terry's put the last little bit of the bird into his mouth as he contemplated his problem.
“Unfortunately, HQ did not give us any contingency plans in the case of being separated other than to head for the bridge independently, so that is the hand I am dealt.”
Terry asked Niamh who was still standing nearby “What would you say that is, a five hour jaunt or so?”
“Ya, I'd say sa.”
Looking at his wristwatch and seeing it was 2230 already, he concluded that if he wanted to be there in time to get the assault moving he would have to leave shortly.

Without warning, a rustling in the nearby trees caused Terry to grab his rifle and point it in the direction of the sound.
A voice spoke out from the trees “My God Terry, we thought you had been killed or something.”

[Niamh Dunlevy]

OOC - Eh...lad? You god-modded there a little, made Niamh do something instead of me. Just a warning, I'm not going to be mean about it, but it's really not well-liked in RP circles. Wait for ME to react.

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Platoon? Oh-six-hundred hours? What was this man talking -

Niamh suddenly laughed, her voice rich and deep with her Irish lilt. It was some sort of training exercise! She'd set up camp in the middle of an area where a bunch of soldiers were getting ready to go out to the front lines! Oh, this would be a tale to tell when she wrote to her parents again...her father would probably laugh as well.

Between bites of roasted pheasant, the man asked, “What would you say that is, a five hour jaunt or so?” Niamh nodded, the firelight glancing off her face to light up her mismatched eyes - the right was amber, the left brown.

"Ya, I'd say sa," the woman replied. Suddenly, Drummer whinnied at a noise in the bushes, and the woman's head whipped around to see a human-shaped shadow suddenly appear on the ground.

"OI! Who's t'ere?!" the woman boomed, glaring into the darkness. Lieutenant Scott pointed his rifle at where the shadow came from, but then, a voice rang out.

“My God Terry, we thought you had been killed or something.”

More soldiers. Lovely. Niamh smirked, and moved back over to the fire.

"I'll geth more bird on," the woman said to the Lieutenant as she passed, grabbing the pheasant and cutting off sizable bits of flesh, spearing them and putting them over the fire to roast.

[Scott Evans]

OOC: Sorry, I sent you a PM also. I do know it was not well taken, Nathan told me about it, but frankly I considered it such a inconsiderable little thing that it was excusable. My humblest apologies ma'am.
Also sorry for the delays, I was waiting for the response from Punk to the message I mentioned I would send.

IC:

To the probable relief of Miss Dunlevy, there was not a platoon in the woods ready to destroy her camp, but only a sergeant, Wilkinson and a private, Thompson from the platoon Lt Scott was supposed to be leading to the bridge. Motioning them over, he introduces them.
“Miss Dunlevy, excuse these chaps, Wilkinson here, and Private Thompson. I wonder about their manners at times.”
The two grunted their greetings, but they seemed to be preoccupied with the bird on the fire. Nudging Wilkinson, Thompson asks in a whisper that could have been heard all the way to Berlin “Do you think she'd let us have some of that fowl?” Terry shot a hard glare right at the Private who seemed oblivious as he plopped himself down on the ground near the campfire. Sergeant Wilkinson saw it though and gave Thompson a jolt as he sat himself beside him.
“If you ask politely lads, this nice young lady might share her catch with you, but I would not expect you lot could be polite.”
“She's more of a gypsy I'd say” murmured the grumpy private.
When Terry heard that, he growled “Hold you tongue man, or else I will get Wilkinson here to march you straight to Berlin regardless of what the Krauts think”
The inconsiderate Thompson shut up at that threat, knowing that his sergeant would very likely do just that, and Terry apologized.
“I am sorry ma'am, this lot never learned their manners, it would seem they never went to school and instead spent their childhoods running over the locales roughshod.”

[Niamh Dunlevy]

“Miss Dunlevy, excuse these chaps, Wilkinson here, and Private Thompson. I wonder about their manners at times.”

"Meh, sure. Justh know my horse has hooves the size of dinner plathes, boys!" Niamh said loudly, a smirk upon her face. Drummer's ears perked just a little higher as the woman said this, and his dark brown eyes followed the movement of the two newcomers, curious. The horse could be protective of his mistress, just like a dog would, and these men had no clue whatsoever of what the equine was capable of.

Humming, Niamh went over to the roasting pheasant, leaning down and looking carefully at the half-cooked bits. The fire was hot and stoked, despite the moist kindling that fed it, and the meat was cooking quickly. In another ten minutes, she could give something to the nearby men, whom she had noticed were staring at the meagre meal like hungry dogs.

“If you ask politely lads, this nice young lady might share her catch with you, but I would not expect you lot could be polite.”

"T'at I will, laddies," said Niamh as she turned around, smiling, but immediately glared at Thompson when he made the "Gypsy" comment. She went to snap at him, but Terry scolded the man, and Niamh looked on with a satisfied smile.

If one looked closely at that smile, though, they would see that it had a hint of mischief in it.

"Drummer," the woman called out suddenly, "min'urt kadog."

Immediately, the horse snorted, ears pricked and ready for action. He pawed at the ground, his head bobbing a couple of times, tail swishing from side to side. Her evil smile growing, Niamh circled the fire for a moment, just until she was in front of the soldiers...

"Drummer, ram."

In the direction she had pointed with her finger (which was directly at Thompson), the horse shrieked and charged, barreling towards him. If he was not swift, the horse would bring his head down and ram Thompson like a billy goat, the momentum enough to lift Thompson off of the ground if he was sitting. Drummer would then proceed to keep running, pushing Thompson along if the man did not get away, and ram him again, only this time into the trunk of a nearby tree.

Looking with malevolent glee at her guests, Niamh then cried, "An' t'at's what happens when ya screw with a DUNLEVY! We ain'th Gypsies, we're Pavees, ya eejiths!! GOTH ITH?!!"

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OOC: It's just a mistake, but it CAN upset the balance of the RP, especially in battles. The game just works that way. You don't have to worry about me being upset, don't worry. You'll catch on. And I think the PM didn't go through.

[Scott Evans]

The sudden flurry of activity from Niamh startled all three of the paratroopers and Private Thompson just barely scrambled out of the way of the oncoming animal.
"An' t'at's what happens when ya screw with a DUNLEVY! We ain'th Gypsies, we're Pavees, ya eejiths!! GOTH ITH?!!"
Stammering his apology, Thompson would never again mistake a Pavee for a Gypsie!
Clearing his throat, Terry said “Well, I think you have learned your lesson soldier, anyways, we won't be bothering you any longer ma'am..”
And to the two soldiers “On your feet lads, we should be pushing off.”
Slight grumbles came from the two soldiers who were just settling down after the incident and getting comfortable, but they both new not to make a fuss, they did not want to tick off their hostess anymore than they had already, and they knew the Lieutenant would stand for no more bellyaching.
The two troopers stood to their feet and started off towards the road, out of camp. Stuffing the map and pencil back into his battle blouse, tucking his compass into a pocket and grabbing his helmet that he set down and slinging his rifle onto his back, Terry said “Thank you ma'am for your hospitality”, and then moved to follow the two troopers.
Suddenly, as if he just had a thought, which indeed he had, Lt Scott turned. “Ma'am, would you care to join us and see the show? It might interest you. If not, no offense taken, but it would be our honour to have you along.”
He knew Private Thompson was cringing at the thought of having that horse anywhere near him again, but Terry also knew it would keep him in line. Not to mention this Pavee seemed to know her way around these parts and would be a good insurance against getting lost.
He was not sure if she was interested in this sort of stuff, but after her kindness in sharing her hot meal with him he thought it the least he could offer in return.

OOC: I should have mentioned it, but Punk did reply and said it was fine.

[Niamh Dunlevy]

OOC - GAH!! I forgot about this for a second, sorry!

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“Ma'am, would you care to join us and see the show? It might interest you. If not, no offense taken, but it would be our honour to have you along.”

Once more, the incredibly chilvarous Lieutenant Scott had pulled a polite move out of his pocket. In the glow of the firelight, Niamh smirked, impressed. Yet another gentle soul, just like that Nathan fellow, who had been such a gentleman back to her at Christmastime.

"Well, laddie, I cannoth sthay in thown fer long, buth I would be more t'en happy tho escort you tho Llanymynech. I need some supplies fer myself, tho."

Putting two fingers in her mouth, Niamh whistled three sharp, short whistles, and Drummer came cantering back with a neigh. Giving him a few words of praise and a quick pat on his velvety nose, Niamh trotted over to the fire, yanking the spear from its place in the ground.

"OI! LADDIES!" the woman boomed, waving at the pair who were about to go down the road. "Hold on a minuthe!"

Once she caught up with them, the Pavee would hand them the stick, where three pieces of bird waited for them, steaming and moist and ready. Yanking off a piece for herself, the young woman winked, then ran back over to her fire and threw water on it from a nearby bucket. Drummer's ears perked up at the hissing noise, but he did nothing else.

"I BE JUSTH A MINUTHE!!" Niamh called out into the darkness, stirring the firepit's coals and quickly heading over to her tent to take it down.

[Scott Evans]

“Hold it chaps! Wait for the lady you silly goons.” At times it felt like he was speaking to a dumb variant of an animal, but these were the chaps he was stuck with, so he made the best of it. Once in battle they were good chaps, solid, dependable, but some of them could try even the most patient of men when not fighting enemies.
Turning to watch Terry, and also probably to watch out for the horse that had obeyed so diligently it's masters commands, the two stopped obediently.
As the Pavee quickly but thoroughly packed her tent, Lt Scott pulled out his map once again and tried to visualize the path they were to set out upon shortly. It consisted of a single roadway but there were quite a few side paths one must watch out for or you could get easily lost.
He was hoping he would meet up with the rest of his platoon either on the way or at the bridge just outside of the town their new traveling companion pronounced so well.
Working out a traveling order, he decided to put the veteran sergeant on point, the private would follow behind, Terry himself would take the rear and the Pavee where she wished to be. Looking at his watch he noticed that half an hour had gone by since the two Troopers showed up, so Twenty Three Hundred hours, with 7 hours to get there.
Shifting his pack more squarely onto his shoulders, he glanced back to see how Miss Dunlevy was getting on, and then to the two troopers who were waiting ahead.

Taking another look at the map until he was satisfied that he had the basic idea of where they were headed, he placed it back in an inner pocket and proceeded to consider the possibility that there would be no other of his troops waiting at the objective. He knew he had to make a go of it, but with just two chaps with him it would be a long shot, regardless of the number of enemy there, for he had been told there would be fifty to sixty there, and he was not sure how he was going to force the road open with just three men counting himself. For there to even be a chance at success, they would have to make good use of surprise, maybe even getting in behind the barricade that was sure to be there and catch them unawares.
Fortunately Sergent Wilkinson had been provisioned with a Bren, and he had been known to use it well in the past, most notably in North Africa, but the Private only had his Enfield and Bayonet, the same Terry himself had, though Terry also had a Webley revolver loaned by a friend for the operation (As he had not been requisitioned one as of yet).
If they were alone and could get in behind they could negate the cover that the men at the bridge would likely have, sandbags probably, and if anything the three might be able to hold their positions until the main column arrived and attacked from the nominal end. It was a long shot but one that must be taken.
Thankfully the Sergeant had brought along plenty of extra magazines for the Bren, and both Terry and the Private had the foresight to carry plenty of ammunition for their rifles and Terry had a few extra rounds for his Pistol, though reloading a Webley in battle was well known to be hard. Though as the saying goes, “The Colt won the West, The Webley won the rest”, so with a bit of the daring of his predecessors he might pull it off, or prove to his superiors he would not shun his a fight or his duty.

[Heidi]

A couple more knots, a little more stuffing, and finally, the Pavee had her tent and canvas covering stuffed into the old sack she had. Putting a pair of fingers in her mouth, she whistled sharply, and Drummer came trotting over to see her. With practiced ease, she put a hand on her shoulderblades and pulled herself up, swinging a leg over to mount.

"Well t'en, laddies, leth's be off when ya ready, eh?" the woman called out into the darkness, gently kicking at Drummer's sides. The horse moved out, snorting, Niamh leaning onto his neck and seizing the reins from where they dangled in front of her. Unlike a saddle, a bridle was essential for riding, since it was far too difficult to try and control Drummer without it. Despite what some might have thought, a horse barely noticed when you pulled at its mane, since it wasn't as sensitive as human hair was.

Drummer nickered softly as he trotted towards the pair, slowing a moment to turn his head and look at Terry. The horse reached forward to begin searching the Lieutenant's pockets, but a nudge from Niamh's foot told him to stop. Snorting again, the beast of burden raised his mighty head, and waited for the next command.

"I'll go 'round t'e side or t'e rear," Niamh said, leaning down slightly to talk to the soldiers better. "Y'shouldn'th sthand in fronth of a horses backside, in case t'ey kick, or worse, t'ey break wind. I'd hathe fer you laddies tho be down fer t'e counth 'cause of me."

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OOC - Forgot to log out...AGAIN.