*The Verge of War* A Medieval Rp

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Lsky said:
India approached the small pony slowly, bowing her head to sniff at it. She snickered softly back and twitched her ears.
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Emilee, being far from what one would call a 'horsewoman', hesitantly held out an apple to the big horse. Daisy immediately turned and went to Emilee, only to take the apple and run off.
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Anna set her knitting aside. It was completely dark out and the dim light from the fire wasn't enough to finish the delicate lace details.
 
India eyed up the apple, taking a gentle step toward Emilee. When the pony snatched it from her hand and galloped away, India flicked her head up and snorted in dismay, she considered for a moment chasing the pony down, her legs were far stronger and she would've run her down in a matter of seconds. But looking around her at the field of fermenting apples lying in the grass she only snickered quietly to herself, almost as if in amusement. The girl in front of her reminded her of the boy she had been with. She seemed just as small and timid.
 
Emilee muttered something undefinable under her breath as she picked up her belongings and went to find Daisy. She had had enough of this cat and mouse game and was ready to return home to a cozy fire and a warm meal.
Daisy, having finished the stolen Apple, mosied around the row looking for more. She passed over several old rotten ones before finding a ripe and bruised one.
 
Pulling a ripe apple from the grass India crunched into it, it burst in her mouth, the sweet juices dripping down onto the ground. She followed the girl with her eyes as she walked away, and quietly as a horse a quarter her size, she trotted along behind her. When she got close enough she stuck out her lip and nuzzled the girls hair into a tangle.
 
A tall figure was standing alongside Alfric, a long, dark shadow cast upon their face.
"You understand why I did what I did, son. Don't you?" The voice was familiar, the accent struck a chord in his head, it was not that of his own.
"Perhaps, not now." It continued. "But one day."
There was a long pause between words.
"What will happen now, father?" A fragile voice enquired, it was that of a child's.
"What will happen will happen. But know this, one day soon Al, you will be a man grown. And you will have to carry the burden of life alone." There was a long remorseful sigh.
"Do you know what it is which makes a man good and noble?"
There was a long silence.
"You're born into, father." The child explained proudly.
"No, no." A large rough hand reached down and ruffled Alfric's tumbling locks of hair.
"It is not your title, nor your blood which makes you noble, Alfric. It is in your heart, your mind. Good men don't all sit upon thrones. Sometimes they live to old age, sometimes..." Another sigh, and then the hand ruffled his hair again.
"You will still be you, even without your name. And I will always be your father, despite what others may call me." They stopped, and now Alfric realised that they had been walking. He peered up and looked at the shadowed face, dark against the light sky. He felt the tears rolling down his cheeks, and then the callous thumbs which brushed them away.
"There is enough rivers as it is Son, we are in no need of another." The words were rough but warm, like the hands which comforted him.
Alfric opened his eyes slowly, blinking up at the wooden paneling on the ceiling. A fire gently crackled opposite to him. He rubbed his eyes and found them moist and sore.
"Hello?" He called out dryly, his voice cracking like that of a child's.
 

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