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Friday Evening

I pulled into the driveway of my country estate (as I jokingly refer to it) with plenty of evening sun waiting for us. Emmanuel, who was used to his own delivery-van-sized vehicle, was happy that I drove a large and comfortable passenger van. For me, it just made sense for an old bear to have room, comfort, cargo space, and reasonable protection against the pestilent swarms of little cars all over the road; for him, it gave him the chance to fold down the back seats and lay back with plenty of room for his two-meter-plus frame and his huge wings. Until I went to pick him up at this digs, I hadn't really thought about how difficult it would be for a Pegasus to use public transport, and gods deliver us Beings of Royal Proportions from SmartCars.

The house is large but not palatial, and the barn and stables are only a short distance off. A large parcel of the land was cleared as a field for our feral horses to roam in and enjoy, properly fenced in and looking more than a little idyllic. I saw that a few of the horses were still wandering happily in the lingering light, and the twin otters who help look after them for me had noted our arrival and were coming up from the stables to greet us.

"That's Brady and Boyce," I said to Emmanuel as I helped him out of the van's hatchback. "I told them that I was having a guest for the weekend. If they make any assumptions you don't like, we'll correct them quickly enough."

"Are they...?"

"Straight, so far as I know, but that's neither here nor there. They have manners."

It hadn't been a long drive, but I think Emmanuel was still happy to get out and stretch, which unquestionably included his wings. I saw him start to shift a bit, eased a few steps away to give him room, which he most certainly needed. I wasn't sure if it was the drive, or just the fact that the country gives everyone a sense of having all the space they need to relax themselves. Before either of us had realized it, he had his wings open and spread wide, shaking and fluttering as if sorting themselves out.

Had I the words of a poet, I still couldn't describe the full magnificence of seeing his wings unfurled like that. The movement was effortless, seemingly unconscious. It caught Brady and Boyce completely off guard. They stopped walking so abruptly that I thought they would simply fall over in their tracks. Eyes like saucers, tails lashing upward in surprise, their maws gaped open, quite properly awestruck. It would have been cruel to laugh. I waved them toward us. "Come on over, boys, let me introduce you to my favorite client."

Names were exchanged, forepaws were shaken, and the poor otters did their very best to get their maws to close. Emmanuel, furling his wings again, did much to make them at ease, even graciously inviting them to look more closely at his wings. They stood to either side of him, looking, not quite believing, too polite to touch but clearly wanting to. My guest would probably not have minded, but he too was polite, acknowledging the otter's nervousness and being as calm and natural as possible. I hoped that the attention would make him less inclined to... I blocked the hideous idea again. Time for that discussion later.

"Emmanuel has never had a chance to be around feral horses," I explained. "He's been working hard lately, and I invited him up for the weekend, get some fresh air, relax a little. You two can show him around, if you'd like."

"That'd be great!" Brady announced, still not quite trusting himself to say more. Boyce, elder by all of twelve minutes, stepped in to show his superior social skills.

"We've never seen..." he began. "You're a...?"

"Pegasus," Emmanuel supplied politely, still smiling. "We're a bit rare. And it's okay - everyone's curious, I guess. I'll tell you in advance that I don't give frequent flyer points."

The twins' laughter was nervous but real, and they relaxed considerably. "Can you... really fly with those wings?"

"Haven't actually tried." Emmanuel rubbed the back of his neck a little self-consciously. "It's not supposed to be possible, according to the textbooks. Body mass versus the musculature for controlling them, my bones being not nearly as porous as bird bones, which adds to the weight, and the ratio of the wingspan to the body. My wings are bigger than most, but..." He grinned. "You know how guys brag about that all the time."

That brought out the laugh from me, and I patted his shoulder. "We'll take in the luggage later. Let's go meet some of the other regular tenants here."

We ambled toward the barn, filling in the time with a few explanations for Brady and Boyce about Emmanuel's work in advertising and being a model. Boyce chuckled. "I just realized I was about to make a bad joke... I'd always assumed photos like that were air-brushed."

Emmanuel, bless him, laughed well and full at that one. "Some, perhaps. There's not always much call for Pegasi in the commercial world."

I tried not to cringe as we showed him into our stables.

The original, smaller building to one side had been converted to storage for grain, spare tack, various things not subject to the environmental variables of being stored in a barn. I'd saved for a number of years to get the new stables built, and everything was as close to top-drawer as possible. It just felt to me like the right thing to do. The foundation was concrete, but the floors themselves were a rubber matting that was both easy to clean and easy on the hooves, as Emmanuel soon discovered. The areas that contained small, raised knobs were sometimes a little less comfortable on my own hind paws, but that was a tiny concession. My otters kept the place clean and tidy, out of a matter of personal pride as well as that of caring for my lovely beasts. As the Mahatma told us, "The greatness of a nation can be judged by the way its animals are treated." I lay no claim to greatness, but my love is genuine.

We entered by way of the big double doors on the side facing the house. The tack room was first on the right, and a full bath for those of us who walked only on their hind legs on the left, and beyond that, the stalls. Emmanuel commented on the flooring. Bryce was quick to point out the advantages to having the aisle covered this way, as well as the stalls. "It makes an easier transition from the hard floor here to the hard-packed dirt outside. The horses seem to--" He broke off because Emmanuel had stopped in his tracks, staring straight ahead. If my client were anything like his feral relatives, his body language told the story. His nostrils were flaring, not from fear but to become aware of the scents of the area, particularly those of the residents. His ears pricked, mostly forward but shifting to catch whatever noises might make themselves known to him, his chocolate-brown eyes wide (no white showing), picking up every possible cue in the stable. I had every reason to think that something in his hindbrain had awakened and was very, very curious.

By the same token, the few residents inside were equally curious. From two occupied stalls, heads appeared, and a sound I'd heard called "the blow" came from both of them. Similar to "the snort," a horse's blowing happens when he exhales through the nose, sharply but without so much vibration, so all you hear is air rather than what we "advanced" creatures might call a "snerk." It tends to express curiosity, but without anxiety - a sort of "Who goes there, friend or foe?" Judgment is in reserve, but your presence has been noted. I would sometimes hear it when I enter the stables after being gone for longer than usual; I always took it as, "Your password has expired, fuzzy-butt; provide an apple to prove you belong here."

"What do I do?" Emmanuel whispered. Less fear, more uncertainty, but that happens with just about anyone meeting a feral horse for the first time. Like the Pegasus himself, they are a huge presence, both in a physical and mythological sense; most furs who haven't learned to know and love them from an early age find them intimidating. As I'd told Emmanuel before, I was all but raised in a barn.

"Let yourself relax," I said softly. I made a jutting motion with my chin, and the twins moved confidently to the horses as an advance guard. Their scents were well known, they were a familiar presence, thus made good ambassadors. "They're more curious than frightened, especially with Brady and Boyce to help pave the way. Your wings are bright, even in here; avoid moving them too much at first, as it might startle them. Give them a bit of time to take your measure. That's all; these two don't shy too easily. C'mon... let me introduce you."

We stepped forward, further into the stables lit, at this time of day, from the skylights and the open doors at each end. Five stalls on each side, odd left, even right; 3 and 6 were occupied, the horses having wandered in or been led in not long ago. These two in particular liked being back in their stalls while the sun was still visible. I have no fancy pure-bred representatives of their respective breeds; these two were mostly Morgans, walking horses from a long and established tradition. To the left, Bryce was patting the neck of the dark chestnut with a mane of almost the same color. "This is Footloose, or 'Footie' for short. When he was a foal, he discovered a proper football - what us Yanks call a 'soccer' ball - and it kept him entertained for hours at a stretch. There was a time he wouldn't settle down in his stall until we made sure_his_ football was in there with him."

Emmanuel faced his distant cousin, one ear flicking, still unsure. Footie, on the other paw, nickered softly and lowered his head a little, ears forward but not pricked sharp - sure signs that he was feeling relaxed, still curious. I'm sure Bryce's and my presence helped, but Footie wasn't one simply to relax without being genuinely comfortable. I waited for just a few seconds more, then gently took the Pegasus by the arm to guide him to the stall opposite but one. "And this is Revy. That's short for 'Reverberation,' actually; with the right music, she'll bob her head to the rhythm. Nothing too loud, though; she's not deaf!"

"Not the disco queen," Brady chuckled, petting the white blaze on the mare's nose softly. Cremello with a white-gold mane, she, like Footie, nickered softly, bobbing her head, not to any rhythm that I could hear, but as if saying "yes" to Emmanuel. He reached out a forepaw to her, slowly.

"Try palm up," I whispered. "More like an offering than a grab."

The Pegasus nodded, still a little nervous, but turned his forepaw about, instinctively lowering it. Knowing Revy as I do, I imagine that she expected there to be some sort of treat in the forepaw; it was, after all, nothing less than her due. She stretched her neck a bit to meet up with Emmanuel's forepaw, nuzzling it softly. He breathed out, almost a blow of his own. Revy didn't seem to mind and kept on nuzzling. "Tickles a little," he said.

"It's that whole velvety-lips mystique you equines have," I teased him. He glanced at me, grinning, then dared to reach up to rub Revy under her chin. This caused a nicker of extreme approval. "Uh oh," I said, "now you've done it."

"Done what?"

"Found her weak spot. Slide your palm up slowly and cup her cheek a little."

In seconds, Emmanuel had the delightful experience of having Revy rub her cheek against his forepaw as perhaps a lover would do. It was the clinching proof that he was now accepted as part of the family.Or the herd, I wondered?

"What in Hell...!"

The four of us turned toward the shout at the far end of the stable aisle. Bearing down upon us, the athletic puma looked almost feral himself as he marched toward Emmanuel. Revy shied at the shout, and the Pegasus clearly looked as if he felt responsible. I stepped from behind my guest's estimable frame and took two steps toward the cat. "That'll be enough, Shane."

He pulled up short, his eyes bulging slightly as they saw me. It's never easy having an employee who doesn't think much of you as a sentient being, but he was what was available at the time I'd hired him, and he kept in line enough for me not to get rid of him. Truth was, Brady and Boyce couldn't handle the work alone, and Shane was all we had. I'd wanted a reason, a chance, to tell him to shove off, but until I could get my otters some proper help (or I gave up the shop and the city, to live here and pitch in with whatever my old bear's back would handle), he would have to do. The twins didn't pay much attention to him or his swagger, but the main point in their favor was that they weren't gay, and he was about as rabidly anti-gay, anti-charity, and anti-common-sense as you can get. "Good ol' boy" would have been charitable at best, because at least some "good ol' boys" really were.

He tried to recover himself. "What was it doing to Revy?"

"Try the masculine pronoun," I suggested._"He_was just being introduced when you burst in like thunder and ruined the moment. Emmanuel is my guest for the weekend. Emmanuel, my rude hired paw here is Shane. I'd apologize for his behavior, but he's likely only to get worse."

"You pay my wage," the cat snarled, "but I know right from wrong, and some things just ain't natural. No horse has wings."

"My guest does, and he's not the only one. You've clearly not heard the term 'Pegasus,' have you? Go look it up; it's in the dictionary, starts with a P, like prudish, pedantic, and putz."

The otters managed to keep their expressions neutral, to their credit, although the not-so-silent thumping of their tailtips was a dead giveaway. Shane appeared about to say something, then either thought better of it or forgot what it was. He spun about on a heel and left the stables.

"I shouldn't have done that," I sighed, turning back to Emmanuel. "I'm sorry, for both my behavior and his. That's not the sort of welcome you should have had here."

"What was that all about?"

"I'd be insulting country folk to lump him in with them. Let's just say he's not terribly sophisticated. And he's not stupid, far from it. That's my mistake, making him look stupid in front of the rest of you. I'll need to apologize for that."

Emmanuel turned when he felt Revy nudge his arm with her muzzle. She was clearly not yet done with this young stallion's attentions. Apparently without conscious thought, he reached out and pet her cheek and neck tenderly, as if he'd been doing so for years. "Why is he so upset?"

"He dislikes anything that's 'not normal,' as he puts it." Boyce decorated the air with quotation marks to emphasize his irritation. "If you want my opinion, Emmanuel, the word starting with P that comes to mind when I see you is pulchritudinous."

"Or maybe preternatural," Brady added, then smiled. "Then again, we both majored in communications, one way and another."

"How'd you land here?" the Pegasus asked, smiling.

"Pays better," the elder twin quipped.

"And the office is bigger." The younger waved his arms as if to encompass more than just the stable.

I managed a laugh. "Flattery will not get you a raise, but I did remember to bring some special foodstuffs from town. Will that make up for it?"

Brady's eyes grew large with hope. "Brie?"

"Bad news - you have to share. Good news - I bought two quarter-kilo packages of the Cremeaux de Bourgogne, along with the really good crouton crackers."

I never knew otters could squeal like that...

* * * * * * * * * *

Brady and Boyce brought the other horses in, including the infamous Jason Imperious Three-Socks, Sony (short for "Sonata"), and her headstrong young foal that we simply referred to as "Hot Shot" at this point. He started showing some independence as early as four months (only a little early, as a general rule), and now at twice that age, the little bugger took some watching as he was led back to the barn. Sony usually kept him in line, and the foal had long since learned that "momma knows best," but he would still try to stay out a bit, if he could get away with it. The short trek from fenced field to barn was his favorite path only in the morning, when he wanted to go test out his legs; returning to the enclosed space was, to say the least, less interesting.

I got Emmanuel's duffel from the van, along with a few bags of groceries, and escorted him into the house. "I have to admit, I'm not entirely sure where you'll be most comfortable," I told him. "The twins have their own apartment in the old barn structure, so you've the run of the house. If the sofa looks more comfortable than the bed in the guest room, that's fine by me. And truth told, it's likely to be a mild night, so if you'd rather, you could spread out in the hay loft and have all the space you'd like. One blanket to lie upon, to keep the hay from itching, another to cover you if you get chilly." I smiled at his surprised expression. "The answer is yes, I have, and it's rather wonderful, unless you're inherently allergic to horse farts."

That got the Pegasus to laughing again, and I was glad to hear it. "I'll select indoors for now, thanks all the same. We'll work out the rest as we go."

I moved into the kitchen and began putting away some of the food and getting more ready for our feast. "Boyce and Brady usually join me for dinner when I'm here, mostly because they consider my cooking a treat - a habit I'm always glad to indulge." I looked pointedly at the stallion. "Shane will not be joining us. He has his own digs somewhere, and I don't think he's set hindpaw inside this house more than a pawful of times the whole time he's been here. I think he's afraid he might catch the gay."

"I take it you've no interest in infecting him."

"Not on my worst day. And just think how much worse it would be for all the other males in the world!"

He eyed the stools at the bar area that looked into the kitchen, and he hesitated conspicuously.

"They'll hold me well enough," I said. "Not like they're Hepplewhite or anything anyway. Give one a try."

Emmanuel sat, a little gingerly at first, but got himself comfortable when he realized that he wasn't about to break them simply by using them for their designed purpose. "I'm always cautious in someone else's house. Most furniture seems made for people under 120 kilos."

"And a good bit under two meters in height. The 'vertically gifted' must have quite a time, I would guess."

I arranged the two rounds of brie on a plate, surrounded by the croutons and offering two separate dishes with pine nuts and orange marmalade in case anyone else's taste buds ran alongside my own tonight. (The combination is amazing; you should try it.) Even with four of us, this would almost be enough to make a good meal, but I took the precaution of making sure that there would be plenty. I produced a fully-cooked meatloaf from home, already warming up from its time out of the fridge, and popped it into the oven to reheat properly. Microwaves are fast, but they also play hob with just about anything that they touch. I set a pan on the stove and broke out the Tupperware bowl of pinto beans that I'd seasoned up and prepared for tonight as well.

"Speaking of horse farts," Emmanuel quipped.

"Not like we're having a competition, mind you, but...!"

Brady and Boyce entered at that time and had to ask what the joke was. Explaining it brought out the approval of both of them; they loved what they so politely referred to as my "finest fart fuel." While the rest of the meal was being brought up to its proper temperature, we moved the brie to the dining table and started enjoying it. Conversation was light, with my otters explaining what a horrible slave-driver of a boss I was, and enjoying every bit of it. I made jokes about putting leather slave gear on them, and the double entendre was set free for the night, Emmanuel proving that his wit could keep up with ours just fine, thanks all the same. By the time the main course was served, it was clear that my guest had been entirely and warmly welcomed (certain puma minorities notwithstanding).

The twins excused themselves fairly early, as was usual for them. "Horses like being fed and tended on a pretty regular clock," Boyce offered by way of explanation. "Come join us at any time; we'll be glad to introduce you to Jason, especially as he's large enough that you might ride him, if you'd like."

Emmanuel chuckled softly. "Today's the first day I've ever so much as met a feral horse; I suspect riding would take some time."

"No pressure," Brady insisted. "Usually, when Gavin has a guest up, it's either for them to ride or just relax. Grooming is very relaxing, if you'd like to try that."

"It usually relaxes me," the Pegasus observed, "but I'm not the one doing the work."

"You'd like it, I promise you."

"Charging me to whitewash the fence?"

I had to laugh at that one. "First rule for guests: Do nothing that you don't want to do. But they're right. Grooming is a very happy and peaceful pastime, and you'll make a friend for life. Especially if you bring in some carrots. We have those, too."

"If that doesn't appeal to you," Boyce grinned, "we'll show you our pond, just inside the wooded area out back. You can take a dip and be lazy in the sun for a while."

"Just my luck, I didn't bring a bathing suit."

Frowning as seriously as he could, Brady asked softly, "What's a bathing suit?"

"These pups aren't shy, Emmanuel," I smiled at him. "And they're perfectly polite, as attested to by every guest I've had here."

"At least two," Boyce added with equal seriousness.

Without making any promises, the Pegasus grinned and shook paws with both of the otters, bidding them a fond good night, waiting to see what the morrow would bring. After the twins left, I began enough clearing and cleaning so as not to leave a complete mess for myself in the morning. It didn't take long for Emmanuel and me to settle ourselves on the (as he put it) "almost seductively comfortable" couch. He sighed with great satisfaction, and even I could see that he felt far more relaxed than he'd been when he first entered the shop, earlier in the week. He leaned back in the couch, shifting his wings carefully. Glancing over at me, eyes half-lidded and content, he said, "That was a delicious meal, Gavin. Thank you, and thank you for a sweet haven from my troubles."

"You're more than welcome." I shifted my old bones enough to sit more sideways in order to look at him more directly. "We've got all weekend, so we don't have to jump into conversations right away. Got any topics in mind?"

"Anything that's not unpleasant."

"That lets out politics, religion, and rap-so-called-music." I grinned at him. "How about relationships?"

"I thought we agreed not to talk about anything unpleasant."

"Nothing unpleasant about a good relationship."

"A good one, true." The Pegasus seemed to slump a little as he passed a forepaw over his forehead and rubbed one eye ruefully. "Trying to remember if I've ever had one of those."

A frown crossed my forehead before I could think better of it. "You've not had a relationship?"

"Oh yes, I've had them... just not sure how good they were." He considered a moment. "I'm not here to dump a lot of grief on you, nor have a pity party."

"Emmanuel," I shifted myself again to get more comfortable, "let me tell you something about keeping horses. The term 'mucking out' refers to cleaning the stalls in a stable. While the horses are out, you roll a wheelbarrow down and shovel out any manure and piss-soaked bedding in the stall, dump it into the wheelbarrow, and top off the bedding with fresh straw, wood chips, whatever you're using. Every stall, every day, because bladders and bowels don't observe holidays. You fill up the wheelbarrow, possibly more than once, and you dump it out in the muckheap that's a good distance from the barn and stables, for various sanitary reasons. And you do it because you love your horses and want to keep them clean, happy, and healthy." I paused. "Sometimes, we need a little mucking out too, my friend, and it's got nothing to do with potty training." I patted his shoulder gently. "So talk to me."

He fixed his sweet chocolate-brown eyes on me, still half-lidded as if considering just what he should say. "It's still sort of linked to the other thing," he said discreetly. "Gavin, you know most of my life story by this time, and you know about a few of my so-called benefactors." He snorted derision that was translatable into the language of any species, sentient or feral. "I wasn't a person; I was a toy. And when the shine wore off, I was tossed away like any other plaything that a petulant child was tired of. Don't let them fool you: They are grown-ups in name only. The only thing I had going for me was some innate sense of self-preservation that made me bank the money I was getting instead of spending too much of it."

"That can't have been easy."

"It wasn't. And it set me up for a lot of disappointments." The equine reflected for a long moment. "When I finally started getting work as a model, I was still pretty frugal, so I became independent of those sort of people. I was still renting out my body, but for a more legitimate purpose, and usually on my terms. I was finally free to find out what a real relationship was like."

He was quiet again, and I let him ruminate as much as he needed.

"What's that line from the movie? 'I never knew why anyone liked me, or even if they liked me.' I didn't catch on, at first. I was stupid, let myself get flattered, cajoled, played, used, and I tried to call it love. Those first several times ended badly; the rest just ended sadly. I never really found my heart in any of those situations. I thought I did, a few times. I even thought about marriage once." Another snort. "We'd been 'together' for almost six months. That's what I called it. I never really thought about it closely until..."

He sighed, brushing back the bit of white-gold forelock from his eyes. "What is a relationship, Gavin? What does it mean?"

"That depends on a lot of things, my friend. You and I have a relationship, first as manedresser and client, and then later as friends. You're in all sorts of relationships with others. What we're talking about is a long-lasting, durable, heart-based connection. You mentioned considering marriage. What does that mean to you?"

"Permanence, maybe. That 'durability' that you mentioned. That's a test I've managed never once to pass in all my thirty-two years."

The comment stung. Even his parents had abandoned him, almost at birth. Some part of me knew that he blamed his wings for that, but this was no time to bring that up. "If you'll allow an old bear his two cents, a marriage - at least to me - is about who you can build a life with. Common goals, common desires, wanting the same sorts of things, and wanting to enjoy them together. Love helps, no question. Love is what you remember on those days when you are just about driven crazy by something that your mate is doing. It's where that bit of wisdom comes from that says never to go to bed angry with your mate. That's to remind you that the most important thing in your life is the love you share. The rest is details, and after a good night's sleep, you'll wake to find the strength to handle those details, because your first and best reason for sorting it out will be there beside you."

He regarded me again with those soft eyes. "You're still single."

"Any number of reasons for that, including being too old, too fat, and too set in my ways. I don't exactly have a fan club hammering my door, begging me to come out to play." I managed something like a smile. "The gay world can be unforgiving. Or picky. I'm told I'd probably have a lot of takers if I set myself up as a 'big bear daddy dom,' but I don't think that's quite my venue, no matter what the twins say about my being a slave-driver."

Another snort from my equine companion, the hint of a smile on his muzzle. "Who do you see yourself with, Gavin?"

"Oh, my friend... that's a swiftly diminishing list." I leaned back a little against the arm of the sofa, interlaced my fingers, and rested my forepaws on what Archie Goodwin would have called my "middle mound." "I had a magic checklist once, including all the important things - must like horses, wants to be adored at least a little bit, has a good idea what he wants out of his life, doesn't snore..."

I waited for his chuckle to subside, then continued. "In my younger days, I was picky; as I got older, I got scared. About the time I stared down the barrel of forty - which, as you know, makes me ancient in the gay world - I put my heart on a shelf and worked hard at my job and taking care of my family here. Being gay, I never thought about creating one in the biological sense. Maybe that's why I like Brady and Boyce so much. They're not 'the sons I never had' or anything, but they're more than just good workers. Shane is paid by the job, more or less; the twins get their apartment, a salary, and bonuses for special care. For instance, you remember the big storms we had a few years ago? The horses were physically safe, always, but they were spooked by the thunder and the torrents of rain pounding on the roof. Those two otters stayed in barn, stayed up all night, gathering the horses together in the middle of the stable and soothing them. They were less nervous when they weren't separated by the stalls, and Boyce and Brady talked to them, petted them, stayed close... they even sang to them. All because they wanted the troop to feel safe."

"Troop?"

"One of the collective nouns for horses. 'Herd' usually refers to wild horses, 'string' for ponies, and words like 'troop' and 'team' for horses like mine. I usually call them all 'family,' at this point."

He paused again. "Do you ever get lonely?"

"All the time." I smiled again. "I once had a... well, more than friend, perhaps. We'd cuddle together sometimes, and occasionally we made it sexual, if only to see if we still could. Somehow, we never quite got the idea of trying to build a life together. Part of that was that he was something of a gypsy, I suppose. Not a wanton, mind you, just a traveler, not easily able to stay in one place for too long. I was stability for him, and he took that from time to time, but he just couldn't settle down."

"What happened?"

"Some small town sheriff decided that anyone on a motorcycle had to have done something, somewhere. The official report said 'resisting arrest,' despite eyewitness testimony. He was shot."

I felt Emmanuel's forepaw on my shoulder. I didn't dare look up at him, for fear of cranking up the waterworks, all too easy for me to do when thinking about what happened to Joshua. It was almost a cliché in these modern times, despite our various claims that there's no such thing as species stereotyping. After all, it's just "truth" that badgers are born vicious killers, like feral wolves and pit bulls, and there's just no civilizing them.

"Have you," the Pegasus asked softly, "well, have you given up looking?"

"Some days. Some days, I still dream, and other days, I curse myself a fool for even thinking it anymore."

"I didn't mean to make this painful too."

Placing my forepaw gently atop his, I shook my head, smiling a little. "It's not like you've dredged up old memories or something. I always whisper his name before sleep, every night. I never want to forget, you see. That's worse than having nothing at all." I looked over at Emmanuel, concerned that his eyes held more hurt than anyone should be feeling, especially as my guest. "Are you tired?"

"I feel like I've screwed up the evening pretty well."

"Not at all. Although, if you're not careful, I'll end up telling several very tall tales about my friend Joshua, and you might hurt yourself trying to believe them."

His eyes managed to smile at that point. "I wish I were as strong as you are."

"Why do you think you're weak?"

The young equine looked away, not hurt. The ear furthest from me flicked a bit, but the one nearest stayed focused on me. He wasn't trying to get away from me or reject me at all. His higher brain functions were chewing on something, even though his body language was communicating just as my feral horses did. If he weren't sitting on it, his tail would probably be low and lashing a little - discomfort, anxiety, but not fear.

"How can you tell if you love someone? Or if they love you?"

I squeezed his forepaw and took it down to where I could hold it in both of my own. "You really think I have those answers?" I grinned softly at him. I'd make a fortune, between the book sales and speaking tours!" I leaned forward, hoping he'd take the hint, and eventually, he looked into my eyes. "There's no one answer, Emmanuel. It's all pretty much a guessing game. But I can give you what clues I've learned in my long years.

"You're the only one who can say if you're in love with someone else, and learning that can take years or an instant. As for someone loving you, my only advice is to pay attention to actions more than words. Anyone can say anything they like, but it's the ones who actually do something that make the difference. Are they there when you need them, or try to be, or is everything excuses and silences? Even when they aren't able to help directly, do they offer, or at least try to support you in some way? Does it feel like a pleasure to do things for them, or is it more like a chore? My advice would be never even to date anyone who, when you need an ambulance, has to wait until her nail polish is dry before she dials 9-1-1."

"That's sound advice," he chuckled, then sobered again. "So how do you know when you're in love with someone?"

I shrugged a little. "The usual clichés aside, I'd say... well, it's more about what you want to do with them, apart from the horizontal tango. If you imagine yourself doing many different things with them, wanting to do those things, planning them... that's a pretty good indicator. And in my experience, you usually find that their opinion matters to you, sometimes even more than your own, but certainly more than other people's. They're the ones you believe when they tell you good things about yourself, and they're the ones you turn to for advice that you feel you can trust."

As I looked at him, something he said in the shop a few days ago came back to me. "Emmanuel, you said you thought you had someone in mind. A prospect for a relationship. Would you like to tell me about him-or-her?"

He paused, considering. "Let me think about it a little more. I'd like to consider some of the things you've said tonight."

"Fair deal." I released his forepaw and stood, stretching. "So - where would you like to sleep?"

"The sofa's a little longer than the bed, I think." I could see the faint blush under his sweet caramel cheeks. "And it's really comfortable."

"Done and done. Pillows and blanket coming up."

I went to fetch them from the guest room, as well as finding one of the "beach towels" in the linen cupboard for him. When I returned, he had taken off his shirt, and I had just the faintest moment of hesitation when I saw him. It wasn't that the sight was new, but it was out of context; he wasn't my client, he was my guest, and despite my insistence that I was no longer looking for a mate, his beauty was undeniable.

"I've a garden tub in the master bath; probably better for the space you need. Got a rubber mat for the tub floor, too, so you won't have to skate around on your hooves. Do you have your own soaps with you, or...?"

"Yes, no problem. I'll shower in the morning, if you don't mind."

We worked out the arrangements, set a date for breakfast, and I went back to the master bedroom. My bedtime routine took up little time, and I was soon in my bed, turning out the light, and settling down for sleep. I didn't close my eyes right away, and I stared into the soft, silent darkness, as I often did out here, so far away from the noise and light pollution of the city. I hadn't lied to Emmanuel; I did indeed whisper Joshua's name before sleep every night. Tonight, however, I whispered more than just his name.

"Joshua, my lovely one... I miss you. I still keep hoping that it was all some kind of mistake, and that you're out there somewhere, and that you'll come home this time." I tasted the word. "Home." It was unquestionably delicious, but it was also a little foreign, as if belonging to some other life, in some other world. That sometimes happened too, when I was away for too long. I had been here just last weekend, so I had to wonder just what it was that I'd been away from, and how long...

...to be continued