Despite how rude Fíadh had been on her last meeting with Detlef, true to her word she is on her way to the stables now with finished horseshoes in tow. In fact, she spent extra time and care on each one. She’d say it’s because she’s absolutely dedicated to quality, more realistically she was putting off handing them over. But now they’re done, and with no other options she’s determined to drop them off, grab her payment, and leave just as quickly. When she reaches the stables, however, she’s not able to find Detlef right away. With a frustrated huff she tightens her hold on her bag and makes her way further in.

Fíadh actually slows a bit as she passes each horse she sees, taking in their strong stature and dark eyes. She’s actually quite the fan of horses, but never spent much time around them. She resists the temptation to reach out and touch their faces as she moves forward, eventually seeing Detlef. She picks back up her pace with a deep breath in and rounds the corner.

“I have your shoes, it will be …”

She’s forgotten what she’s going to say. It could have been important, she can’t recall. All her mind can think about right now is the very, very small horse standing in front of her. And she knows that it’s weirdly tiny, it has to be, she just saw a line of very normal-sized horses. Her eyes are wide and her brows furrowed low, trying to piece together what the hell she’s seeing. Her mouth flaps briefly like a fish on land before finding the next words to say.

“...What’s wrong with your horse?”