The fellow's upswept brows lifted and he gave a grunt. "It's nice to see a young lad with his priorities in order." The man stood. "Your silly horse be takin' a lap about the dale. There's nowt can catch him, long-legged racer that he is. Some of the village lads are keeping an eye on him. Got a pocket full of carrots ready for when he calms down."

Lysander swallowed and began to push against the bed, trying to sit up. "I can —" Except, clearly he could not.

He did manage to sit up a bit, leaning against his pillows on the headboard. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with his body other than its bruised condition. Lysander ran a careful hand over his head and discovered the lump on the back of it.

Oh yes, that hurt. It even hurt to touch his hair. The pounding in his head increased for a moment but after he remained still, it eased off somewhat. He returned his gaze to the man. "Icarus. Icky. Call him."

"Icarus." The fellow shook his head in disgust. "The things you posh sorts name your beasts."

You should meet my siblings.

The man moved to the door of the room. "I'll tell the missus you're awake. I expect you be wantin' me to walk all the way into the village, just to tell someone to trudge about the dale, yelling 'Icky' at the top of his lungs. And me with t' war wound!" With a faint noise of derision, the man limped from the room.

Lysander took that moment to absorb his surroundings. It was a large room, albeit quite plain and functional. He could see from the arched casement of the window and the fine marble mantle on the fireplace that this was a larger house and not a simple shepherd's dwelling.

Yet the room was bare of anything but the bed, the small table at his side that held the basin, and the chair the man had been sitting in. Even a servant's room would have more furnishings than this, although it was clearly a spacious bedchamber.

His curiosity lived at some distance and did not inspire any deep interest. He thought it odd, a puzzle, yet it was a puzzle he felt no urge to solve. It was simply information which he had no idea what to do with. Even the country man's obvious scorn had no effect on him. In fact, it was very nearly soothing to know precisely what someone was thinking and not be put to the strenuous effort of solving yet another human riddle.

Icarus wasn't a stupid horse, nor was he exceptionally flighty, but horses were notional creatures sometimes. If Icky had taken a scare, he would simply have to run himself out. He was well trained but he was also something of a family pet, and Lysander had no doubt that when the horse's belly began to rumble he would find his way to those oats.