CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
“I need to call in a farrier this afternoon,” my master said, changing subject to avoid any more teasing.
“And the vet’s going to have to come and give Huckleberry a thorough check over.
He’ll probably need worming, and I think I’ll ask to get him vaccinated, just in case.
It’s hard to know when his owner would have last done anything for him. ”
Leesha sobered and nodded. “Give me a yell if you need a hand with anything. I’m going to try training Doza a bit more,” she said, naming one of the dogs that apparently had a few behavioural issues.
“Then I’ll do the afternoon feeding, if you’re still caught up with Huckleberry.
And I’ll check on Rose, as well. She was looking kind of restless earlier, so she might be getting ready to calve. ”
My master nodded, then stood up, his sandwich having disappeared in record time.
“I’ll go make a few phone calls and meet you back at Huckleberry’s pen,” he said to me, and I felt a momentary panic.
I hadn’t finished eating yet… but there was nothing in either my master’s tone or his words to indicate that he was displeased about that.
I nodded and mumbled a hasty “Yes, sir,” not quite managing to swallow my mouthful before he was out the door.
I glanced at Leesha, wondering whether she was going to say anything about him.
Back at the hotel, the staff had always been quick to complain about my master the instant he was out of the room, and I was apprehensive of finding out that Leesha wanted to do the same.
It would be disappointing to discover that her friendliness just a few minutes ago had only been a front.
But instead, she grinned and winked at me.
“He can take a bit of getting used to. He’s a good man underneath all that frantic worrying, though, so give him a couple of days to grow on you.
And the more help you can give him around the sanctuary, the more he’ll start to relax.
” She narrowed her eyes, seeming to scrutinise me more thoroughly.
“Bo thinks you’re going to be good for him.
And based on the way he looks at you, I think I’m starting to agree.
” She finished her sandwich in two swift bites and stood up before I could come up with a reply, and then she, too, was gone.
? ? ?
As I watched the farrier explaining the trim he’d done to Huckleberry’s hooves, I found I was liking the man less and less with each passing minute.
His name was Jarra, and he was a Denzogal, eight feet tall and covered in fur that was such a light brown, it was almost blond.
It was quite an unusual colour for a Denzogal, and in the past three years, I’d only ever seen one other individual who’d had the same colouring.
What I’d seen plenty of, though, was conceited assholes who felt they were above everyone around them.
“It’s important to keep them trimmed on a regular basis,” Jarra was saying to my master, who, to his credit, was standing silently and letting the man get on with his speech, instead of telling him he was a fuckwit.
“See the shape of them? Not too up and down, but a lot less flat than they were before. Keep an eye on him, too. He might be a bit sore for the next couple of days. The laser trimmer is as gentle as we can possibly be, but when the hooves were that long, it can take the poor creatures a bit of time to get used to it.”
He was speaking to my master as if he firstly had never seen a donkey before, and secondly, that Huckleberry’s condition was somehow my master’s fault. Did he not understand that this was a shelter where we rescued injured and abandoned animals?
“Any questions?” Jarra finished, smiling condescendingly at my master.
“No, that’ll do,” my master said. “Send us your invoice, and I’ll see that it gets paid. Thank you for your time.”
Thankfully, the man left at the obvious dismissal, and once he was out of earshot, I turned to my master and said, “He didn’t seem very polite.
” It was a mild statement, designed to test my master’s mood.
It was not generally a dimari’s place to comment on the comings and goings around their master’s property, but I suspected that in this case, my master’s opinion would match my own.
Unless, of course, I had somehow misjudged the situation.
“He was a grade-A asshole,” my master said, giving Huckleberry a final scratch between his ears, then leading the way out of the pen.
“He’s not the usual farrier we get. Hank wasn’t available today, so I had to call this dimwit.
And unfortunately, that’s one of the two ways people tend to react when they see my scars.
Half of them recoil like I’m going to infect them with some hideous disease, and the other half treat me like a toddler.
I avoid calling Jarra whenever possible, but Huckleberry really needed to see someone today. ”
As he was talking, a new car came around the corner of the reception building and wove its way slowly up the lane. “This’ll be the vet,” my master said. “I think Huckleberry’s worst problem now is lack of nutrition, but I’ll rest easier knowing if there are any other serious problems.”
The car, with a veterinary logo plastered on the side, pulled up at the side of the barn where the farrier’s car had been just minutes ago.
A human woman got out of the car, looking stern and serious, and a touch past middle-aged, based on the way her hair was starting to grey at the edges.
She pulled a medical kit out of the car and headed towards us.
“Good afternoon, sirs, I’m Noleen Perez.
I’ve just started working for… Oh.” She came to a sudden halt as she took in the pair of us; me, obviously Vangravian, with my sky-blue scales, and my master, doing his very best to appear confident, his scars on full display.
She seemed to be trying to figure out who she should report to – and assuming that she knew enough about dimari to recognise what I was, it was rather concerning that my master didn’t become the obvious choice.
“I’m Cole Jenkins,” my master said, once he’d let her stew in her uncertainty for a moment or two longer.
Perhaps it was cruel to be deliberately making her feel uncomfortable, but after the farrier’s visit, I was starting to sympathise with my master’s dislike of meeting strangers.
“I take it you’ve been hired by Zed Torrent?
” He came forward and held out his hand for her to shake.
“Yes, I have,” the woman replied, reaching out to shake my master’s hand… and then she recoiled as she saw the burned skin on his hand. My master was apparently accustomed to this sort of behaviour, as he stood there, his hand outstretched, his gaze meeting hers dead on.
Noleen reached forward again, letting just the tips of her fingers touch my master’s skin, as she gave him the weakest handshake she could possibly manage.
I was not prone to losing my temper. Dimari were taught from a very early age to manage our emotions in pursuit of flawless service to our masters.
But the disgust in this woman’s gesture lit a fire in my chest that caught me by surprise with its ferocity.
I stepped forward, unbidden, and held out my own hand.
“My name is Xel,” I said, in what would have been a gross breach of protocol, had my master been…
well, if he’d been my real master. In this case, I felt a brief twinge of embarrassment at my own actions, but a much deeper indignation at her treatment of him.
“Hello, Xel,” Noleen said, reaching her hand towards me with far less hesitation.
But just before she could touch me, I recoiled in much the same way she had done, then grimaced down at her hand, and resolved to pinch my fingers around just the edge of her jacket sleeve, giving the fabric a token shake to complete the gesture.
Noleen seemed taken aback by my actions, and I could see two unique and divergent paths that she could take from here.
She could apologise for her rudeness and mumble something about having been taken by surprise.
That option, while not entirely excusing her initial reaction, would at least allow us to move on with a basic level of respect.
Or, she could do what she actually chose to do, which was to brush the entire incident under the rug and pretend it had never happened.
Wrong answer, bitch, I thought blackly. Fine. If she wanted to play it like that, then I could fight fire with fire.
“Zed said you had an injured donkey?” she prompted my master, looking near him, but not at him. She managed to look just past his shoulder, though not in the sort of way that indicated she was looking for the donkey. She was just trying to avoid looking at his face.
“Huckleberry’s over here,” my master said, leading the way, with a look of cold resignation. No doubt he’d had to fight this sort of battle hundreds of times before. But today, he would not be fighting it alone.
As we headed for Huckleberry’s pen, he filled Noleen in on what we knew about Huckleberry, the conditions we’d found him in, and the fact that the farrier had already trimmed his very overgrown hooves.
“All right, let’s take a look at him, then.
” Noleen let herself into the pen, then firmly closed the door before my master could follow her through.
I saw him tilt his head back and mutter something silently, as if requesting patience from some deity.
I stepped up beside him, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and gave him a subtle nod.
Then I let myself into the pen with Noleen, without asking her permission.
Huckleberry was prancing about at the sudden arrival of this new person, but he settled down when he saw me, and sidled up to me, as if asking for protection.