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Sunday Morning

I stirred gently, waking to the sounds of birds and a whisper of soft music barely beginning. Stretching, I reached over to turn off the alarm. Some years ago, I had discovered the CD called_Morning/Jewel,_and I realized that its soft, beautiful combination of natural sound and gentle build of electronic music made a perfect means of waking gently from sleep. It was like hearing the sunrise, and it was available at any time of day. On this particular day, it accompanied daybreak pretty well. I'm not what could be considered a "morning bear" by any stretch, but the annoyance created by the need to wake at this hour was tempered by the reason for such waking: I got to tend to my four-legged family. That's enough to make any horse-loving bear happy.

I'd intended to let Emmanuel sleep for a bit longer while I made the coffee; instead, I found that he was already awake and dressed, waiting for me at the bar that opened into the kitchen. The Pegasus looked up at me from his perch on the stool with a somewhat apologetic smile. "I'd have started coffee, but I wasn't sure where to find everything without making a ruckus."

"Been up long?" I asked, starting the preparations.

"Not very."

"Sleep all right? Not still sore, I hope?"

"A little," he admitted, moving his arms a little to move his pecs, his wings shifting behind him. "A lot less than I'd have been without the liniment, I'll wager. Thank you, Gavin."

"My pleasure, I promise you." I brought down a couple of my more comical mugs, one of them with a cartoon drawing of a fox with an exasperated look on his muzzle, the words "Oh for" above him and "sake!" below (a friend of mine wondered whether it might also hold rice wine for a kitsune). The other bore a caricature of a sardonic St. Bernard asking "How about a nice cup of Shut The F#$K Up?" I showed them to my guest and asked, "Got a preference?"

Emmanuel studied both briefly and chuckled. "I'll take either one, with the proviso that neither one applies to either of us."

"Well spoken!" I grinned. The St. Bernard mug got light cream and two sugars, the fox medium and three sugars. (Blame my sweet tooth. Hey, I'm a bear; it could have been honey.) The coffee perked and dripped, and I leaned on the counter to wait. "How else are you feeling, Emmanuel?"

He paused, looking down, a forelock falling into his eyes in that insanely cute way that equines seem able to do without even knowing they're doing it. Bonus points for adorability, but I did my best not to focus on that aspect of it. "I'm not even sure where to start," he murmured.

"Not with decisions," I offered with gentle firmness. "Just feelings. I had the idea that you wanted to talk more last night, but we got a little sidetracked with tea and liniment. What did you want to tell me? Something about your flight?"

"It wasn't much of a--" He broke off, considering. "First flight by a non-winged species wasn't much more than, what, 250 meters? Mine wasn't even a tenth of that."

"But still beautiful, if I can be forgiven for saying so."

"No forgiving necessary." He looked up at me with such tenderness that I wasn't sure how to respond. "I find myself wishing that I had words for it, Gavin." He breathed slowly through his nose, his nostrils flaring gently, reminding me of that line in the ancient book (Hast Thou given the horse strength), which again made me think about angels' wings.

"We always use that phrase, 'What's it like,' when it might not be like anything at all."

He considered for a moment while I poured our first cups. "I was never an athlete in school, at least not in the sense of joining some kind of team or other. There weren't a lot of teams that would have wanted me. I was too encumbered for most sports." He smiled wryly. "I guess I could have supplied spare feathers for the badminton shuttlecock."

I didn't reply as I passed over his mug, and he looked sufficiently ashamed of himself for me not to rebuke him for such an obviously cheap shot.

"To answer the question, I took to running on my own. Horses run. I figure you've noticed."

"No argument." I took a careful sip; after all, coffee's only good for you when you don't burn your tongue.

"Weights came later. It took a while to figure out how to use them properly, having to work around my wings." Again as if noticing they were being talked about, his wings shifted slightly behind him. He sampled his own brew, nodding appreciatively despite his mind being elsewhere. "Running burned calories and kept my legs strong; upper body was muscle work, mostly bench... You probably know all this."

Nodding, I felt a grin coming on. "Just because I know it doesn't mean that I use it myself!"

Emmanuel managed a small laugh. "You do fine. You get your own workouts through massage, I figure."

"You'd be right." I paused just a moment before guiding him back to the topic. "The question is, how much you were working thesupracoracoideus muscles along with the pecs?"

"Do you think it would explain why my first chest workouts were so tough?"

"Could be," I nodded. "I'm going to guess that you were working the right muscles, in proper form, for the major and minor pecs; the rest, the ones that make your wings work, would have had to adjust, to make room for the expansion of the other muscles." I frowned, taking another sip of coffee to get my old bear's brain kick-started. "You must have at least some control of your... what the hell, let's keep it simple and call them 'wing muscles.' Easier to say. And you must have some conscious control of them, or you wouldn't be able to furl and unfurl them so easily. When you arrived here on Friday night, you let them blossom quite amply after our ride here."

"That always feels... well, instinctual." Emmanuel ducked his head slightly, ears splayed as if embarrassed. "Sometimes, it's like they know what they want to do without my thinking about it. I pull them in when running, if only because of wind drag."

"Were you aware of them unfurling when you approached the fence?"

"I don't think so." He looked away, as if trying to remember. "It's not like I ran hurdles in track-and-field or anything. No pole vaulting, no pommel horse, nothing like that. I didn't think I could vault over the top rail, although I was wondering if I could. I had the idea that I'd slow down when I got close and climb over the fence; the rails are spaced closely enough to do that."

"Your hooves would have slipped."

"Maybe," he nodded. "I didn't think that far ahead."

"I saw you in the setting sunlight." I kept my voice soft. "As you got closer to the fence, your wings seemed to start moving, almost of their own accord. I remembered thinking that they -- not you, but your wings -- seemed uncertain, not sure if they should open wider or not. I had the strange feeling that maybe you weren't sure what would happen either."

"I wasn't." The Pegasus looked up, his chocolate brown eyes hesitant, maybe even a little afraid. "All I could think about was Hot Shot, about what might happen to him if he got lost, all by himself, and at night. I don't know what sort of ferals might be out here, and I was scared for him. I was running so hard, so fast, sprinting for all I was worth, and the fence was getting closer... Gavin, I could have broken a leg, either from trying to stop too quickly or from hitting it against the fence rail trying to jump or vault over it." An ear flicked nervously, and I heard the sound of his tail brushing against the legs of the kitchen stool. "At least Brady wouldn't have to relive that; I'd be able to heal from a break. What happened was... it was like my body knew what to do. I hate to keep using the word 'instinctual,' but that's what it felt like. I didn't think about it; I found myself unfurling my wings, pumping them, and then I was hauled up into the air as if I were jumping, but with the help of pushing air beneath me."

"And when you landed?"

"Again, pushing air to cushion the fall." He managed a chuckle. "I think I freaked out Hot Shot pretty well."

"At first, yes, but his rearing made him stop long enough that you caught up to him. And he was completely calm after you wrapped your arms around him. Your arms, and your wings. He became quiet with you very quickly. I thought maybe it was because you smelled like family." I took another sip of coffee, if only to give him time to recover from such an onslaught of words. "Emmanuel, that tells me what you felt, physically speaking. What about your emotions? What were those feelings?"

He looked away again, drank some coffee, kept his eyes away from mine a little longer. The moment stretched like warm taffy, and I let it. When finally he looked back at me, his eyes were again mild, swimming with unborn tears that spoke more than words. He held me mesmerized, unable to turn away for what felt like a full minute. Perhaps I had words during that time, perhaps I didn't; what I felt, I was afraid to name, because something told me that he was nearing a decision, and I wasn't sure that I would want to know what it was.

"Gavin," he said at last. "We've got your family to tend to."

* * * * * * * * * *

The morning was more muggy than I'd expected; that usually meant the possibility of rain later on, although I'd not checked the forecast. Emmanuel was again dressed in the simplicity of shorts and an A-frame shirt. It might have been my imagination, but his wings seemed to be slightly unfurled, as if adjusting to the warmth of the day. Reflex or conscious accommodation? I began to wonder what sort of information had been gathered on the physiology of a Pegasus. My knowledge had been limited to the necessities of grooming -- caring for the wings as well as the more "traditional" equine coat. I was guessing about the "wing muscles," as I'd agreed to call them; only logic told me that they were there. It seemed ghoulish to wonder if anyone had dissected a Pegasus after his passing (hopefully not before, came the even more gruesome thought), but science was science. Physicians could only treat what they knew about, so research had to come from somewhere. I didn't have to see an autopsy or dissection to read about whatever had been discovered.

It was a little cooler in the shade of the barn. Brady and Boyce had prepped for the mucking out, apparently waiting for us to show up to start the grooming. They were stripped to the waist, also to accommodate the humid warmth. I'd little doubt that they'd want their swim this afternoon. Truth told, I suspected that they'd work starkers, if they had the chance; they always struck me as naturists (as the modern term would have it). It seemed to me that they stayed clothed either as a courtesy to me or as some assurance that I wouldn't go mad and try to have sex with them. I preferred to think of it as the former, with a gently teasing joke regarding the latter. Just for a not-so-innocent moment, I took notice of their lean, solid forms and smooth golden fur, a passing sense of envy toward those females in their lives fortunate enough to have explored them.Damn but I was a randy old sod this morning...

Emmanuel and I greeted one and all as we entered. All of the horses seemed happy to see the Pegasus, particularly Revy and Hot Shot. The colt whinnied with some excitement, rearing up very gently as if to see better over the partition.

"Your entourage of one welcomes you," Boyce chuckled.

"Then I guess we know who's getting groomed first!" Emmanuel stepped up to Hot Shot's stall, and without a moment's hesitation, he reached in to pet the colt's head and neck, causing yet more excitement in the little one. "Shh," he murmured, leaning in a little. "I'm here. And yes, I'll groom you today so you can go out and run some more." He held the pony's chin gently and looked into his eyes. "Inside the fence, got it?"

This won him a reluctant sort of blow that made all of us laugh. Boyce padded up to fit the simple harness and tether line to Hot Shot, and the Pegasus opened the stall door to let him out. I looked over to Brady, ready to wheel the barrow to the colt's stall to muck out. "Need a helping paw?" I asked him.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "How's your back?" he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

"I'm not exactly decrepit yet, you know! And I've had coffee in an attempt to make some pretense at being awake. I might even know what end of the pitchfork to use."

"Depends on what you want to use it for."

I pretended to bristle. "Sexual harassment on the job? I'll have to report you to the boss!" I looked to my right. "Boss, I've just been sexually harassed by the hired help." I turned my head to the left. "Did you enjoy it?" Back right. "Yes." Back left. "Case dismissed."

Emmanuel laughed over that little bit of silliness, which only endeared him further to me. He had a forepaw to Hot Shot's neck as he did so, seeming to know it would keep the colt more calm when he erupted with the sudden noise. "Come help me groom this little feller. I'm still the newbie here."

The twins assured us both that they had the mucking out well in-paw, and I gathered up the grooming kit for Emmanuel's use. He went to one knee, the better to brush the pony's neck and sides. After a few minutes, he'd done a very creditable job. He leaned toward Hot Shot's head and asked softly, "How am I doing?"

"I think that's your answer."

The Pegasus looked to where I was glancing and visibly flinched. The pony had dropped.

"Adolescence alert," Boyce chuckled. "We'll have to watch this one during the mares' cycles."

"The records are up-to-date," I said.

Emmanuel did his best not to be embarrassed. "I did that?"

"Indirectly," I said, trying not to grin. "It's a response to various types of stimuli; sometimes, Jason or Footie will do the same, the naughty studs. We're teasing about the adolescence part, at least a little. He's getting to that age, though."

"As long as no one's having a competition."

"We'd lose," the twins chorused.

"Not by much, I'd wager," I added.

"Hey, boss, I think I've just been sexually harassed!" Boyce piped up.

"Did you enjoy it?"

He paused. "Define 'enjoy.' "

"Not on a bet!"

It was clear to me that the tone for the day had been set, and set well.

* * * * * * * * * *

Emmanuel's self-grooming no doubt helped with his learning how to groom his cousins. With very few pointers, he was able to do almost all of the work himself. Since the horses couldn't use our language, we had to learn theirs, and we had to make our own mental checklist of things to watch out for since we couldn't simply ask. I think my guest had some new appreciation for how I treated him at the spa, although as I pointed out, he could at least tell me if anything needed attention. As it was, the most that I had to worry about with the Pegasus' tending the troop was to help him create that mental checklist, to make sure that he'd not overlooked any important parts in the many things that need daily attention. He was no slouch in these areas. In fact, he was able to show me a trick in tending to the frogs that helped me ensure that I wasn't poking anything that didn't bear poking (no puns intended).

We walked Jason out last, not only because he's the biggest of the bunch, but also because he didn't much care for humid weather, and I was hoping we'd get a bit of breeze from somewhere as the sun had time to rise fully. I took the stallion into the field a short distance before releasing the tether. I saw Hot Shot come trotting up to us, stopping a short distance from the open gate. I turned to find that Emmanuel had locked his eyes on the colt, a serious expression on his face, pointing two fingers toward his own eyes, then turning them to point at Hot Shot. Judging by the flicks of ears and tail, and by a slightly subdued motion of turning around and sauntering casually into the field, I had the impression that the yowen had gotten the message.

"Breakfast?" I offered.

"With or without sexual harassment?"

"You shouldn't tease an old bear too much; you know how we get when we're cornered."

His eyes became far more somber than they needed to be. "I'm sorry, Gavin, I didn't--"

"Hey, it's okay. C'mon, let's get breakfast."

Emmanuel fell into step with me. He kept his tongue behind his teeth until we got inside. He put a forepaw to my shoulder and very gently turned me to him. I found myself enveloped by a very well-muscled equine who held me close to him and seemed in no hurry to let me go. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, with a depth of sincerity that is rarely heard from anyone using those two words in ordinary circumstances. He pulled my head to his chest, hot and damp from his exertion at grooming, and he rested his chin atop my head. "I try to be a good guest, even a good friend, and I keep tripping over that same stumbling block. I keep hurting you."

"No, you really don't." I reached around him, under his wings, feeling him shift them gently to give me space to press my forepaws against his back. The gesture was both familiar and oddly new. With all that happened here, and in such a short time, I had the sense that Emmanuel was still wrestling with his demons, angels, whatever they might be.

He didn't say anything more for a long moment, nor did he move to release me. In some ways, I didn't mind at all. Forgive an old fag his overactive hormones, but the stallion smelled more intensely male than anyone I'd had the pleasure to experience in far too long. We knew we'd be working a bit before breakfast, and it seemed a little silly to shower before. He wasn't offensive in the slightest, but "pungent" wouldn't be far off the mark -- a strong, spicy aroma that spoke of the simple, direct power of equine maleness that was short of sexual musk but unmistakably of the masculine gender. I tried not to let it affect me too much, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have a passing envy of the females in his life. Along with overall randiness, envy seemed high on my list of emotions today.

"Would you like to shower first?" he asked softly.

I squeezed him. "How about I make some breakfast, and make sure the coffee's still drinkable? If I'm not too whiffy to dine with, that is."

"Not at all." I felt the soft rumble against my cheek and ear more than I heard it. He pulled away and looked at me. Again, I felt that chill, that sense that he was coming to a decision, or perhaps he even had reached it, and I couldn't be sure that I wanted to know what it would be. He broke my attention by making his very simple request of pancakes for breakfast, giving my shoulders a squeeze, and excusing himself to the master bath. I was once again left to wonder, to worry. I breathed slowly, my shirt still smelling of him, and padded to the kitchen to make breakfast.

I busied myself with preparations, trying not to think too much. There are those who'd say that empty-headedness was my usual state of mind, in which case the twenty minutes it took for Emmanuel to return should have passed without any notice at all. Truth was that I thought about it plenty; what exactly I was thinking... that remains a mystery. I didn't have any real sense of specific thought, just a maelstrom of emotions. Fat lot of good I was being, as some sort of therapist. I could only hope I was doing better as a friend.

Emmanuel appeared at the breakfast table in fresh clothing, putting his sweaty clothes into a mesh laundry bag that he'd taken from his duffel. "I can wash those before you go, if you'd like." I smiled at him. "I don't even have to take them down t' th' crick and bang on 'em with stones. We've got all the modern conveniences here."

"Don't violate the Sabbath by doing laundry!" he admonished. "That's what Mondays are for."

"Sundays for blessing, Mondays for cursing, as the old saying goes." I served up the first few buckwheat flapjacks for him, pointed him to the butter and syrup bottles on the table. "You're welcome to anything you'd like, but that dark brown fluid in the small decanter is homemade blackstrap, from my daddy's recipe, so think twice before simply dismissing it."

He took the top off the decanter and sniffed, at which point his ears went straight up. "Is this as incredibly sweet as it smells?"

"More."

"I shall drizzle it sparingly!" He suited actions to words and took a healthy sample. His vocal approval was matched by a delicate bouncing and fluttering of his wings, making me think once more that not all of their movement was in his control after all. "This must be Sunday, because I sense the presence of the gods in this syrup."

"Flattery will get you just about anywhere." I put a few pancakes onto my own plate, set the pan to one side, and joined him. I helped myself to the decanter and did my best to exercise a modicum of restraint. Given the difference of syrup quantities upon our two plates, it was easy to see why we each looked the way he did.

"Gavin, may I talk to you about your ranch?"

"What do you want to know?"

The Pegasus paused. "I may get pretty personal here, so let me know if I overstep, okay?"

"I doubt that you will."

"Don't be too sure. I'll try, though." He ahemed gently and asked, "How many hectares do you have here?"

"Just shy of twelve, counting the forested area. My grandfather had more of the land around us; my father was convinced to sell several quarter-hectare plots along the road for people who wanted to build homes out here, but it's not what you'd call developed. Only three buyers put up houses; the rest are still vacant. We're not exactly isolated out here; Buford -- that's the town we came through, about ten minutes away -- is a good little country town. However, we aren't exactly convenient to malls, movie houses, all the paraphernalia of what modern folk think is necessary for daily life. It's a place for quiet, although not necessarily for raising a family, these days."

"Ever thought of expanding your holdings?"

"No need to, really." I took a moment to stuff my face before continuing. "With the feed we provide, there's plenty of room for the horses to graze and run."

"You've more stalls; thought about a few more horses?"

"Thought about, yes, but never followed through. Not a good investment right now. Keeping the horses is a really a hobby, even if it's an expensive one. I don't think of them as pets; they're far too independent-minded for that. I guess that's the other reason they're like family -- always had them in my life, and I really couldn't imagine life without them." I looked at him curiously. "Emmanuel, what's this about?"

"Call it curiosity. Humor me just a little more." He took a swig of his coffee, his ears pivoting (nervousness? looking for sound?). "You must have a way of offsetting at least some of these costs. Brady and Boyce told me about riding lessons, a stud fee for His Imperious Majesty, a few things like that. What would it take for you to turn this into a working ranch?"

I was about to speak when he held up a forefinger.

"Or would you want to?"

Nodding, I said, "Thank you for adding that, because it's probably the answer I have in mind: Not sure I'd want to." A sigh escaped me before I could convince it not to. "I love the shop in the city, and I love my family here. I split time between them, hoping to find some kind of balance. It already costs a packet for me to maintain it, but like I said, I love my bairns, and I can still manage. My dear otters keep this place together; Shane is just someone I have to have around to keep the twins from being overwhelmed with maintenance."

"What if you could find someone else? Someone to replace Shane? Would you feel more inclined to expand then?"

"I'd have to find some discreet way of casting around for a hired paw without Shane's hearing about it; he'd quit without warning and poison me in town and everywhere he could. After all, this is still the country, even if in our so-called enlightened times." I shook my head. "It's a moot point, really. I'm not rich, but neither am I broke by any stretch. My work in the shop is bringing in enough for me to keep otter and soul together, if you'll forgive the pun. I just don't think there's a lot of room for me to plan on expansions that I wouldn't know what to do with. I can't imagine myself having two businesses."

"Is that why you rent room space in the spa, rather than having your own shop?"

"I'm good at my job," I smiled, "but I have a lousy head for business. I can keep books, make guesses about what's needed for expenses and such, but if I had to... what's the phrase, 'drive business' to my own place? I'd go broke. I rely on the spa's good name and word-of-muzzle to keep me in clients. Outside of that, I have no idea what I'm doing."

The Pegasus sat nearby, simply nodding. "That's what I've been thinking about with my modeling career. It's why I have someone else find work for me, negotiate fees... all that stuff's outside of what I can really wrap my brain around. For me to expand the way that my agent thinks is sensible, I'd have to--"

"Please don't say it."

"I won't." His eyes apologized for the hurt that he felt sure he'd caused me. "I only mean... well, part of what I'm having to think about is what I'm going to do about my own expansion, my own future. One way of thinking is like pro athletes and so forth, that you've only got so many good years in the game, so you have to bank all you can in your early years so that you can keep going for all the years after. T'other paw, 'expansion' could mean a second income from something you could do after the first income stream dries up." He managed a chuckle. "I don't see myself in a home business, selling soap or beauty products."

"Of course not; you're already too beautiful."

He smiled, although I saw something else in his eyes before he could cover it up with a laugh. I couldn't tell what it was, but I was all too afraid of what it could be. "The day's still young," he said. "Have any plans?"

"Nothing specific, although I really must answer that letter from the Ambassador to the Court of St. James; Her Majesty will be frantic if I can't join her at Ascot this year. What about you?"

"The U.N. wants to consult with me about the tensions in the Middle East, but that can wait." He grinned back at me. "Actually, when I visited with Brady and Boyce yesterday afternoon, a few topics came up that I thought I could help with. That, and I might borrow a cup of Internet a little later."

"Doesn't that constitute working on the Sabbath?"

"Just a few things I wanted to check. Won't take long, and it can wait." He started to rise, and I put out a forepaw.

"Emmanuel, I..." I took a deep breath. "No pressure. Did you want to talk more about...?" I still couldn't say it.

He took my forepaw into his, clasping it gently. "Please don't worry, Gavin. You've given me the perfect space for me to think in. I've even got new friends to talk to. I'll admit, that's part of why I want to help the twins today -- we'll talk a little more. They've helped a lot. You've helped." He squeezed my paw and stood up. "We'll talk this evening."

"I'm going to drive to the grocery in Buford a little later. Boyce usually has a list for me, to help keep them stocked. Want anything?"

"Yes," he said. "We may be celebrating a decision tonight. Perhaps something nice for dessert?"

"Will I feel like celebrating?"

It just came out. I hadn't meant to put that sort of pressure on him but I ended up doing it anyway. I couldn't stop it.

Emmanuel came to stand beside me, putting a paw to my shoulder. "We'll celebrate my future, Gavin. I hope that you'll celebrate it with me."

He left quietly to go see the twins and whatever it was that they had in mind to do today. I cleaned up the breakfast plates, set the kitchen to rights, and went to take my shower. I spent a lot of time sitting on the floor of the tub, crying like I would never stop.