Work Text:
“Eman, come.”
The horse, however, would have none of it. It shied away from the hay pile, and would not eat of it. As he looked up, it seemed as though the groom sought aid from a higher power, but after a moment of scanning the heavens—or possibly the surrounding buildings—the man spoke.
“You can come out now, novice. Eman needs to eat, and he will refuse as long as there is someone hiding in his meal.”
Receiving no reply, the man sighed and, reaching into the hay pile, pulled out a boy of fifteen.
The horse ate.
Emiliana stopped on the rooftop, panting slightly as she scanned her surroundings. Ezio was not an easy man to follow, even when he wanted her to do so. Bueno, she thought, as she saw a haystack on the ground in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she leapt from the building. Wind whistling in her ears, she turned herself to land safely on her back as she had been taught. The hay pile was strangely lumpy. Che cazzo? She felt around a bit, eventually realizing she held a human arm. Well, the maestro had definitely been here, then.
Yuck.
Paul unhitched the horse from the cart, and prepared to transfer the hay to his neighbor’s barn. John had not had a good hay harvest this year—much of it had been ruined by rain—and Paul had more than he would need for the winter, so he had offered to bring some so John’s livestock would not starve. As he dug the pitchfork into the pile, though, it encountered something with entirely the wrong texture. Moving the hay aside, he saw that it was, in fact, a redcoat. A rather dead redcoat. He stared.
“Damn lobsters mess everything up.”