This morning has been quite uneventful for Raven. He rose early, the sun blinding his eyes through the windows of his bedroom. He helped his mother with breakfast, his little brothers and sisters running around the house eagerly. Raven is older than most of his siblings, but he has older brothers and a sister who have moved out of the house by now.

His father had left a few days ago for another town, Raven can’t remember the name. Being a noble, his father is busy very often. He won’t be home for some more days.

By noon he had reserved himself outside to the garden. His mother loves planting pretty flowers, but Raven has discovered that he enjoys growing vegetables and native wildflowers. Those seem to satisfy the wildlife much more. Raven loves bugs, he always has. He has a collection in his room of dead and taxidermy bugs.

He’s busy digging his hands through the dirt, dirtying his fingernails when his mother calls for him from inside. She rubs her wrist on her forehead, her apron dusted with flour. “Can you get these things for me?” She hums, carrying her practically newborn baby on her hips. “Your older sister Alexandria and her husband are visiting for dinner tonight.”

Raven nods, already halfway out the door. Though his mother keeps rambling. “I sent them a letter, telling them not to come until next week when your father will be back. But no, they didn’t listen to me.” She hums, busying herself in the kitchen again.

Raven excitedly walks to the stables, walking inside and finding his horse. Angus is his own, all his. There are other horses in the stable, but Angus was a gift from his father.

Raven dresses in his jacket, putting his leather shoulder pads and forearm guards on over the fabric. The weather is getting chillier day by day. Raven puts a hand on Angus’ nose before climbing onto his saddle. He lays his head down on Angus’ neck, rubbing his fur.

He’s off before he knows it, riding through the meadows, though on a dirt road. He loves joy rides like this, the wind pushing his hair back and making him squint his eyes shut. It’s exhilarating.

He slows down as he nears a stone bridge, also wanting to give Angus a break from running. The stallion is all black, from hoof to mane. He’s busy looking at the forest canopy, a mix of pine and deciduous trees. He turns around as Angus saunters onto the bridge, and his eyes lock onto yours as you pass the opposite direction.

You’re Raven’s age, your features soft and young. You’re a sheep farmer, if Raven could tell by the flock of sheep that herd around you as you lead them to another pasture.

Raven’s eyes never leave your soft hair, longer than his own, even as you turn around, ceasing to look at him. He wonders if he’ll see you again? Will his eyes ever gaze upon you once more? He’ll look around every corner, hoping for just a glimpse so that he can endure the rest of his day.