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Altaïr huffed, moody. His head tilted sideways to glare up from the shadow of his hood.
“Will you drink now?”
The grey horse stood next to him swiveled an ear. A moment and she dropped her head down to sniff curiously at the water lazily rushing by their feet. She dipped her muzzle just enough to wet her whiskers and the shanks of her bit before recoiling with a headshake and the jingle of tack. Returning to staring at the flock of birds fluttering around the opposite bank with ears perked.
He sighed heavily and settled more comfortably on his haunches. They were on the road home from Jerusalum. And this was the last opportunity for water until the next day. This mare was one of his favorite of the Masyaf herd. If he was the type to admit to a favorite of anything. She was built sturdy, had more than wind between her ears and was confident enough to handle long stretches on the road alone with only a brusque human for company. Her name was Marah. And usually she drank any water offered to her with little delay, focused on the mission as her rider was. Today she was… off.
A horse was like a weapon. It required specific maintenance and care. And failure to care for your horse was failure to care for your mission.
The birds across the way fluttered about suddenly and her tail swished, curious. Gaze still locked. It annoyed him. So he flicked the rein in his hand so she would jump. Which she did.
“Horse. Drink.” Commanding and glaring. Threatening growl enough to give even the most bravehearted pause... Except this damned horse. Who spared only a touch to his shoulder before lipping at the smooth pebbles at their feet. Decidedly not drinking.
It was a cool and sunny spring day. A breeze tugged the ends of his robes. Tugged Marah’s mane and tail and rustled the leaves of a tree currently housing a flock of birds. Altaïr had already drank his own fill, washed up, cleaned his pot and refilled his waterskins. The water was icy. He trailed a four fingered hand across the surface then lifted it for closer inspection. Blood still stained the very edge of his sleeve. Tch.
With a quick glance around, he unbuckled his hidden blade and gauntlet with a smoothness only brought about by repetition, repetition. Equipment passing inspection, it was placed on the dry pebbles and he dunked his not-heavy-enough hand up to the wrist. Pinching and rubbing the tough fabric as the blood stubbornly clung. The chilly water nipped at his fingers. He turned his head when Marah threw out a front leg to itch and drag her face up and down the side of it. She considered the water again before straightening with half a shake and a big sigh. He squinted at her, then back down to his submerged hands. Watched the blood swirl and be whisked downstream just as quickly. He rubbed the last of the stain slowly with his thumb.
“...Is it the cold? Is this why you refuse to drink?” An ear tilted toward his voice. He wrung the fabric a final time and shook the water free. Made sure to flick water in her direction as well. “Waiting will not warm it. We have places to be. You know you must drink now or suffer your own consequence.” Gathering his equipment he rose and stretched his arms forward and up. He untied the flap of a saddle bag to tuck his blade away until the time his sleeve dried. Set to checking tack and tightening buckles.
Marah rocked on her feet, dipped her head down again to the water. Altaïr carefully did not watch, redoing the ties on his bedroll instead. Satisfied, he went and sunk a foot into a stirrup, pulling himself up with ease. The horses head was down as she took large pulls of water. Finally. Annoyed relief. She lifted her head only long enough to shoo a fly from her chest before going back for another drink and he carefully kept very still in the saddle.
“You could do this sooner next time.” He murmured. Could almost be fond. Waited for her to drink her fill. Then she went back to staring across the water, licking her lips dry best she could around her clinking bit. He squirmed, settled himself in the saddle and picked up the reins. Guided her with hand and heel back toward the road and Masyaf.
Behind them, the birds took off with the fluttering of many wings and soared overhead. Altaïr’s thighs dug into the saddle and he hissed as Marah spooked and went skittering sideways away from the riverbank. Horses…