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"Ariel is the name of an angel... sometimes also of a demon..." --Cornelius Agrippa, Occultist (1486-1535)

Saturday Evening

I leaned back in the old, worn, but comfortable office chair (trying not to think of myself in quite the same terms) and enjoyed a big, contented stretch. One thing about my "relaxing weekends at the ranch" is that I have to make sure that all of the records, correspondence, and other pesky bits of bookkeeping are taken care of. There's not much of it, as a rule, but like everything else in life, from laundry and dusting to dinner and relationships, they need tending to regularly, or you're likely to find yourself running out of something you need.

It's a small room, comparatively speaking -- maybe ten or eleven square meters (I was never that good at such estimations) -- but it served its assigned duties well. A simple workstation desk, computer, printer, and filing cabinets for all the important paperwork required, from foaling certificates and health records to various other required recordkeeping. Technically, the ranching part could be considered a business, as we've offered riding lessons and, thanks to the lineage of the Imperious One, the occasional stud fee. For tax purposes, it's considered more of a hobby. (Horse sex as a hobby... dare I tease Emmanuel about that one?) Still, it's never been about tax shelters or some such nonsense; I'm nowhere near rich, but I wouldn't trade my lovely bairns for tea in China, oats in Ireland, or whatever else you've in mind.

One of the reasons I like the office is that it's out here in the stables. With Brady and Boyce nearby, I don't even have to lock it, usually, although I do so out of habit. They have keys so that they can get the records if they need them, for vets, inspectors, whoever might need to visit during the week. I'm really very glad those two have come to work for me, and although I do occasionally wonder why (when they could be so much better off, financially, if they followed their degrees), I do all I can to be grateful for them and to them.

I sighed softly as I thought of the third component in this equation. Shane's a good worker, but he's... let's say "ill-suited to this environment." I know that he doesn't approve of me personally, and he wouldn't have accepted room and board here if I'd offered it to him. The twins' monetary compensation is generous, considering that they don't have to pay rent, but they're well worth it, being on-site guards and protectors of the horses. They go above and beyond the call. Shane, on t'other paw, is merely efficient and goes by the clock. Not a bad thing, all in all, but I tend to think of him more as a strong back rather than as a furson, much less part of the family. That's probably not fair of me, but I have the general impression that he's almost as eager to be shut of me as I am of him. Until I can find someone else who wants to fill the job, he'll have to do.

Emmanuel had gone off for a run some little time ago. In one sense, I suppose, being a guest at my small ranch is sort of like being a guest in the great British manor houses of the day, where one's guests are usually left to fend happily for themselves for the time between breakfast and dinner. If one wishes company, of course I'll be there, but usually, the afternoons are for peace and quiet. Since my guest was accustomed to a daily run, and because he needed time to think, I felt it prudent to let him be. I was intensely curious, of course, but I hoped to know more soon enough.

I tidied up the work space, turned off the computer, set things to rights. I took a moment, in the quiet of the early evening, to listen to what I always thought of as natural quiet. If silence is actually a lack of sound, chances are that few of us have actually heard it (pun intended). There is a texture to quiet, however, and it varies. The quiet of a library is different from the quiet of a darkened bedroom, or of a concert hall before the conductor puts his baton in motion, or even that of a city park. Here, in my own little artificial barony, the quiet of my particular corner of nature holds sway -- insects buzzing near the patch of flowers that I had sown and let grow wild, the occasional sound made by a horse in or near the stable, sometimes the sound of a distant dog, cow, even the rustle of wild rabbits in the brush nearby. Given the choice between silence and natural quiet, I'll take the latter every time.

It becomes a kind of meditation for me, and I couldn't really tell if I'd spent five minutes or thirty in such quiet contemplation. The best part was the fact that it didn't really matter either way. I roused myself eventually, feeling quite nicely relaxed, and padded slowly into the stables again. Revy was already in her stall, and I saw Shane leading Sony in on a fairly short rein. He favored me with a sour glance as he led the mare down the center alley. I mentally girded my loins and went to speak to him.

"Everything all right this evening, Shane?"

The powerfully-built puma regarded me with an expression that barely fell within the bounds of civility. "The horses are fine."

"I thought you might like tomorrow off."

"I know my duty," he said cautiously.

"Of course," I demurred carefully. "You're particularly attentive, and I appreciate that you give us some time on your Sabbath mornings to help."

Without taking his eyes off me, he reached up to pet Sony's neck. The mare accepted it with more grace than I was feeling toward the cat at the moment. "Care for God's creatures. He understands."

"I only thought that, with Emmanuel here to help with grooming, Brady and Boyce could take care of the mucking out tomorrow, and that would let you have the whole day for your devotions."

"Don't make fun of the Lord's day."

"Not at all, Shane." I kept my voice low and level. "Did I use the wrong word?"

"We worship on the Sabbath, as we're supposed to."

I made something between a bow and a nod. "For you to worship. I offer it as a gesture of respect. It's not often that I have a guest who is so interested in grooming that I can--"

"You want to make time with that feathered abomination?"

Flashes of rage are rare for me, particularly when I'm around the horses. They react poorly to such sudden, violent changes in the emotional atmosphere around them. It's linked to the herd instinct; if one member of the troop is suddenly skittish about something, it alerts the whole troop. It took only a glance to see that Sony's eyes had gotten larger, and her ears were pivoting as if looking for some sound that would explain the sensations of danger in the air.

"Let me explain a few things, Shane," I said as softly and calmly as I could, my eyes locked on his, a sensation like the three-point wrestling pin I managed to execute so well during my school years. "Emmanuel is not an abomination; he is a Pegasus, and although they are rare, they are as natural as bears, otters, pumas, and greyhounds, like your kindly Parson Brown. Further, whatever you may think of me for my own sexuality -- which, I might add, is just as natural, given that there are hundreds of non-cognitive species who exhibit homosexual behavior -- Emmanuel has spoken to me often about the females in his life, and I've no reason to doubt him about it. Perhaps more to the point, I didn't invite him here to join me in my bed, and I've no reason to think that he would want to be there. He is a client and a friend; he has some particularly difficult choices to make, and I offered him a quiet, peaceful place to help him make up his mind. So let me rephrase my offer to you. You are not expected back here until Monday morning, as usual, and I don't particularly care to see you one minute before then. Is that clearer for you?"

Whatever else may be said of the foolish cat, he was smart enough not to spook the horse whose reins he still clutched in an unrelenting grip. Damn me for a coward, but I took advantage of that knowledge by stepping closer to both him and Sony, putting a forepaw under her chin and rubbing her cheek with the other. There was no mistaking the fury in the puma's eyes, but he let nothing else show. In a deep, slightly rasping voice, he said, "I'll make sure Sony's in for the night."

I nodded once, let go of the mare's face, and moved aside for Shane to pass me. I made a note to myself to come back later to apologize to Sony; I had the feeling that she was still upset by the exchange.

Through the open double doors at the far end, I could see Emmanuel, still shirtless from his afternoon run, walking toward the stable with Footloose, the former with wings furled, the latter with an easy gait and some slack in the reins that told me both of the equines were comfortable with each other. The Pegasus waved to me with his free forepaw, already having seen that sudden loud noises were disturbing to our charges. I smiled back and padded closer before greeting him. "You've made yet another friend, I see."

He rested his free forepaw on the chestnut's shoulder companionably, grinning at me. "We sort of got to chatting while Brady was putting the lead on him, and he seemed to want to walk back here with me while Brady and Boyce saw to Jason and Hot Shot."

"You seem to be getting along with the whole family."

"He'll be expecting me to groom him, next." The Pegasus ran his fingers gently through Footie's mane; the horse nickered as if to confirm his reservation for a good brushing in the morning. It seemed, to me at least, that the date had been made.

A sudden noise from outside caught all of our ears. Although Footie didn't shy, perhaps because of Emmanuel keeping such a calm forepaw to his shoulder, the horse did bring his head around, ears pert, shifting on his hooves, uncertain. I could hear Brady and Boyce both shouting, partly for help, partly crying the name_Hot Shot_ along with some mild oaths. Shane had heard it too; having put Sony into her stall, he was approaching the open doors with his usual scowl plastered to his face. I had to force myself to move as slowly and smoothly as I could, taking the lead from Emmanuel and passing it to the puma. "Get Footie settled, then come out as soon as you can. We may need the help."

Relieved of his charge, the Pegasus preceded me outside at a quick trot. I got out as quickly as I could, seeing Brady trying to shoo off his brother as he began to regain his hindpaws after apparently having taken a tumble. "I'm okay," he insisted, dusty but unbowed. Above him, Boyce looked around himself frantically. The gate to the fenced-in pasture was open, and although clearly curious about the goings-on, Jason Imperious Three-Socks still stood within the boundaries, seeming to take no interest in going anywhere just at the moment, his royal disdain refusing to be taken in by any noisy hijinks, thank you very much.

"I should have known better," Brady cursed himself. "Hot Shot surprised me, yanked the lead from my paw as we came out the gate."

"Not your fault," I said quickly. "Let's go find him, which way--"

"Not sure."

"There." Emmanuel's height, greater than the rest of ours, must have allowed him to spot the headstrong young colt loping along the outside of the enclosure fence. Once we knew where to look, all heads turned to mark the gaily bouncing tail of a yowen who knows he's getting away with staying up past his bedtime.

"Brady, Boyce, that way," I pointed the other way round the outside, "we'll go this way."

I knew that Emmanuel would be able to outrun me easily, but he surprised me when he ran to the inside of the enclosure. It was clearly the shortest distance, but...

"The fence!" I called to him.

"I'll hop it when I get there," he called back, sprinting on legs that I couldn't hope to catch up to.

He was probably right; he could vault over it, pushing off the top rail with his arms. I continued around the outside of the fence, taking a good fifteen seconds or more just to reach the corner of it. I wasn't entirely out of shape, but neither was I up for a hard run at a moment's notice. Brady and Boyce had a good head-start on me, and Emmanuel was far and away ahead of the rest of us. I marveled at the stallion's ability to maintain such a strong pace, his long, powerful legs pushing him for all he was worth. He'd have room past the fence to hop over; the woods didn't encroach all that closely. Footloose seemed unaware that he was the object of pursuit, instead wanting only to reach the woods beyond his known pastureland. He was young enough that he was uncertain of straying too far away from the familiar fence, and that kept him from cantering off in some direction we might not be able to call him back from.

The evening sun was still warm, giving a good amount of light to see by. Better still, it was at our backs, not glaring into our eyes, so we could watch our steps. The ground under my hindpaws was solid and comparatively smooth. I felt sure that Brady was trying not to relive the terrors he had felt when Old Trooper had broken his leg, and even though I wasn't here at the time, I shared no small part of that same fear. The interior portion of the fence had been rolled recently, and Emmanuel seemed quite sure of his stride. Nearly to the back fence, he pushed further, as if to try to arrive before Footlose could make it to the strange new world that he sought with such youthful diligence. His wings, still furled, gleamed in the oranging glow, shifting, shifting back, as if unsure...

Even as I ran, the thought struck home: How could wings be unsure? Emmanuel, perhaps, could be unsure about his wings, and they were a part of him, but the only indecision could be on his part, to hold them close, or to expand them...

...and as I stared, unblinking, incredulous, Emmanuel spread his wings and literally flew over the fence.

It was a short distance, a matter of a dozen meters or so, but his arms never touched the railing, nor did his hooves. Make no mistake: It was flight. His wings pumped powerfully and unquestionably assisted with lifting him off the ground, a great_whumpf_ of air with each beat. He had raised his legs in what seemed an instinctive motion, as any of us might when jumping over a barrier, but he cleared the top fence rail by no less than a meter. He touched down on the other side, hooves solid to the ground, wings pulled back enough not to cause any obstruction; they seemed, in fact, to push against the fall to cushion his landing. I couldn't see his face clearly across the distance, but he appeared to gather himself quickly and ran directly toward the stunned little colt. Hot Shot reared, whinnying sharply, but he couldn't get back onto all four hooves and run away quickly enough to avoid Emmanuel's embrace. The Pegasus fell to his knees, his arms around the young horse's neck and shoulders, holding close even as the yowen tried to pull away. The wings unfurled again, protectively forward, and as I got closer, I could hear Hot Shot's fearful cries begin to soften into quiet, Emmanuel's low, tender voice offering comforting sounds that were more susurrations than words.

Brady and Boyce reached the scene before I did. Their maws hung open, only partly from the exertion of running. They stood nearby, not at all sure what to do. I felt no certainty myself, other than that I could slow my approach -- no one was hurt, so far as I could tell, and Hot Shot was no longer in any danger. I could see his rump just beyond the tender shields of Emmanuel's wings, and he stood solidly on his hooves, his tail swishing anxiously, but more with exertion and excitement than with fear.

When I came upon the four of them, still regaining my breath, Brady and Boyce had managed to get the tether back onto the colt's harness. Hot Shot looked a little winded, like the rest of us, but he seemed reluctant to leave the scene. It took only a second for me to realize that it wasn't because he didn't want to go back to the stable, but that he didn't want to leave Emmanuel behind. Whatever strange appendages the Pegasus might have, he still smelled like family, perhaps especially after the exertions of the moment. Emmanuel's appearance might have startled the colt, but once safely enveloped in his arms, his wings, his scent, the yowen had calmed down and knew he was safe. My young guest, who had not been around his distant cousins before yesterday, leaned down to kiss the colt's forehead and whisper, "Go ahead; I'll be there in a bit, okay?"

Hot Shot nickered softly, as if he understood perfectly, and I'm damned if I could say that he didn't. Accepting a gentle pat to his neck in farewell, the yowen turned and trotted mildly with the otter twins, who led him back to the stable. I stood near Emmanuel as he fell back onto his haunches, eyes closed, still getting his breath back, but not from exertion. I ran an appraising glance over him, seeing no signs of any injury or damage. He had produced no lather from such a short run; his quick breathing was helping him cast off any excess heat from the warm, moist evening. Unlike his non-speaking cousins, Emmanuel could use words to ask for water, a sports drink, whatever he might need to rehydrate when necessary. What I sensed was that he might not be able to remember how to use words just yet.

"Emmanuel?" I asked in low, hushed tones, a forepaw to his shoulder. "Thank you. You rescued Hot Shot. Thank you."

He was quiet for another few moments before he opened his eyes, wide, the chocolate brown nearly subsumed by the black pupils. I could see him trembling, and I fell to my knees to wrap my arms tightly around him. He gripped me forcefully, his chin jutted over my shoulder as he held me, his breath sharp, something just short of sobs. Words would have to wait.

* * * * * * * * * *

The sun was nearer the horizon by the time Emmanuel and I returned to the stable, but there was still a good bit of light left. As we approached, Brady and Boyce tried their best to look amenable to either staying or leaving, as my guest would wish, but there was no question that they were curious to the bursting point. To my surprise, Emmanuel spoke first.

"Shane around?" he asked quietly.

The otters shook their heads, and I added, "I told him to take tomorrow off. We shouldn't see him till Monday morning."

"He got Jason inside," Boyce offered. "Everyone's bunked down for the night."

"Should we...?" Brady asked, cutting his question short.

Emmanuel stepped up to the twins and wrapped his arms around them. Whatever else had happened today, my guest was clearly feeling comfortable with everyone he'd met, whether with two hindpaws or four hooves to the ground. He turned his head back toward me to ask, "Enough dinner for four tonight, Gavin?"

"Unless you have other plans."

"We don't want to crowd you..." Boyce began.

"I need friends tonight. At least until it's your bedtime." The Pegasus nickered, grinning. "Mine too, probably. I think Sony expects me to groom her tomorrow morning." He sighed softly, the smile still warm. "And I promised Hot Shot I'd say good night."

I nodded, feeling my eyes grow softer. "A promise is a promise. I'll go get the plates set; you three follow when ready." I turned to go back to the house before they could see the sentimental old bear trying not to cry at such tenderness.

* * * * * * * * * *

My weekends here do require my time at the "office," but it also affords me the luxury of being able to cook things that are not part of my usual repertoire. Case in point: A lovely bacon and onion quiche, prepared earlier in the day and set in the refrigerator to await the evening. (Anything with dairy and eggs in it should never be left out for any prolonged period of time!) I popped it into the oven to warm up while I set the table.

What I had seen not half an hour ago played over and over in my head. I couldn't stop it if I'd wanted to, and I had no desire whatsoever to stop it. It was breathtaking, astonishing, beautiful beyond describing. What I wanted to stop was the fear that I'd never see it happen again. I found a dry dishtowel to care for my wet eyes; I knew it wouldn't do to show weak eyes to them. Oh, they would understand, I had no doubt. Maybe it was just my vanity. I didn't want Emmanuel thinking me either overly emotional or, still worse, manipulative.

My guest and my wonderful otter twins arrived well in time for the quiche to be at serving temperature. Emmanuel offered to get a shirt, to "dress for dinner," but I vetoed the idea in favor of enjoying the main dish while it was still hot. (I'll admit to a little selfishness at wanting to keep the rather warmer dish in plain sight. Sue me.) I dished up a tangy fruit cup to go with it, quartered the quiche (we were all plenty hungry after that run), and enjoyed the sound of mashing mandibles and the appreciation lavished upon the chef. The conversation stayed light for most of the meal, and not uncomfortably. As strange as it seemed, even to me, we were all willing to follow Emmanuel's lead. It really didn't take too long. At a pause in the conversation, my guest looked at us each in turn, a soft smile on his muzzle, and simply said, "Thank you."

None of us seemed to have an answer, so we just nodded.

The Pegasus sighed, shook his head. "Did I really do that?"

"You really did," Brady replied.

Another silence, brief, easy. The equine managed a small snort. "Good thing I have witnesses; I could never prove it otherwise. I've never..." The whisper of a thrill shook him softly, and he winced a little, moving a forepaw to his bare chest. "Why would my pecs hurt?"

"Not pecs, actually," I smiled, "at least not just the pecs. Your wings are moved mostly by the supracoracoideus muscles in your chest. They're what allow avians to fly, and Pegasi have an adapted form of those muscles, or so I've had to guess. You're going to need some liniment before sleep tonight."

"Exit the otters, stage left," Boyce snickered.

"Hey! I'm a licensed massage therapist!"

"And we're giving you license to provide the rubs." Brady grinned, rising from his place, his older-by-eight-minutes brother doing likewise.

Emmanuel laughed, giving each of the twins a hug. "We'll be up in the morning, regardless of sore supercalifragilistic muscles."

"Supra--" I began, stopping, shaking my head. "Da barbarians is at da gates," I chuckled.

Brady paused after his hug, taking the equine's large head into his webbed paws. "Emmanuel," he said softly. "Please. Keep them."

"Yes, please." Boyce turned to me to explain. "He told us this afternoon."

"Three against one; no fair!" Emmanuel managed a smile, reaching up to pet Brady's cheek as the otter chittered briefly at the touch. "No decisions. Not yet. Okay?"

"I'll settle for that. Thank you."

The twins took their leave quietly, and I turned back to my guest and pointed to the couch. "On your back, big fellah. I'll get the liniment."

"Sir, yes, sir!" the Pegasus saluted sharply, then winced a little.

"Serves you right, smart ass," I chuckled. I returned in short order with a rather plain bottle. "You'll have to do with the stuff we use on your cousins out there. I'm afraid, if we used that apple-scented brew, the horses would try to take bites out of one another."

"At least you know I won't try to eat myself."

I knelt next to him as he looked into my eyes, some bit of mischief dancing there that I wasn't at all sure about. "Arms at your sides," I said softly, warming up the liniment by rubbing it briskly between my forepaws. I applied them to his chest in a perfectly professional capacity, but that's not to say that both of us didn't find enjoyment in the action. I'd like to say that all of my enjoyment came from knowing that I was ministering to him to help keep pain at bay, but I'd be lying. Other of my clients were no less well-made, and providing a massage to them was always enjoyable. With Emmanuel, there was just a bit more to it, no doubt because we'd become friends as well. Now, after this evening, I felt... protective.

"Better?" I asked him, after I'd finished.

"Definitely." He sighed, caught my eyes again with his. "Thank you, Gavin."

"I'll collect," I smiled. "With Shane out tomorrow, the twins will muck out, and you and I get to do the grooming. That okay with you?"

"More than okay."

"How about a happy ending?"

I shouldn't have teased him, but it was fun watching his ears point straight up from his head and his eyes bulge in their sockets.

"In your case," I chuckled, "that would be some herbal tea to help us both get some sleep."

For a moment, it appeared as if he'd forgotten how to breathe. He finally settled down and chuckled a little. "After that meal and the massage, I'm not sure if I need it."

"Blueberry rooibos."

"Sold."

"You stay there and melt. Won't be a moment."

Okay, so I fibbed; it took more than a moment for the water to boil, to set the bags steeping, and so forth. He appeared to be dozing softly when I returned, but he rallied when his sensitive nose caught the tea's bouquet. I held the mugs till he could sit up and take his own in paw. We drank (well, sipped) each other's health and kept a companionable silence for a bit. "If that feels sticky," I said, nodding toward his chest, "I can get a washcloth to wipe it off."

He struggled valiantly to keep his face set, but in the end, he managed a guffaw that even I couldn't keep from sharing. I'd hesitate to call it a "straight line," but there was only one proper response. "Just so you know, I don't say that to all my males! Not that many of them, these days."

I hadn't meant that comment to sober him so quickly. He paused a moment more before saying, "Didn't mean to trod on your hindpaws, Gavin."

"You didn't, Emmanuel. It's okay."

"It's not okay. You oughtn't be alone. And I know what you're about to say," pointing a stern finger at me. "I will agree with you that Brady, Boyce, and the horses make a wonderful family, but it still leaves you alone. The twins can take of the troop when storms and trouble strike, but who takes care of you?"

"I've taken care of myself for years."

"So have I. Doesn't mean that I don't want someone to lean on, sometimes." He paused, looking at me warmly. "I'm glad you convinced me to be here this weekend. You've helped me a lot already."

"I'm not sure how much I've helped, truth told," I chuckled ruefully.

"Start with good food and good company. And whitewashing the fence." He smiled gently. I sensed something change, but I couldn't tell you what it was. He seemed about to speak again, but he stopped, sipping his tea. "Maybe we should just get some rest tonight. Aren't we supposed to be up at sparrow-fart-thirty?"

"Or a quarter-to-horse-fart, if those beans from last night have their say."

"Perhaps I should excuse myself to the stables."

"I'm used to it," I snorted, grinning. "Brady and Boyce will start mucking out when they're ready; I can at least provide you with coffee before we join them."

"Fair enough." He reached out a forepaw to me. "G'night, Gavin."

I took his paw properly. "See you in the morning, Emmanuel." Making sure he still had the blanket to cover himself, I took my leave back to the master bedroom, turning out lights as I went.

Old bears like me can require a little time to settle in before sleeping; part of it is a bedtime routine, part is making sure I'm taking the right pills, and part is just the need to perform the mental equivalent of checking that the gas oven was turned off. Someone once called it "raveling up the day," going through the day's events in reverse order, so much as to let go of it and ready a place in your mind for the next day. Tonight, there was no question but that my memories would stop at what was not merely the most amazing moments of the day but possibly my lifetime.

I shook my head there in the dark and marveled yet again. "Oh, Joshua," I whispered to the soft darkness. "What I wouldn't give to have had you see that. You'd like Emmanuel a lot. And you'd tell him..." I paused. "What would you tell him? You'd tell him to do what was best for him. You wouldn't take sides... except his. Is that what I need to do, old love? Do I need to quit pushing his choice?"

A song lyric came to me, about hearing a sound like the beating of heavenly wings. We always equate goodness with angels and their beautiful white wings. Emmanuel was no angel, and I'd not want him to be, not with all the attendant baggage that religion puts on the backs of those creatures of the divine. Perhaps, for him, those wings were more infernal than supernal. I didn't have to live with them, be judged because of them, be set apart by them, whether for good or ill.

Neither was I able to forget what I'd seen today, and I felt sure that, if I never saw that again, I would surely weep and never cease.