Edward, Fairbairn, and Bjornson arrived at the stables. As they entered, the familiar sights and smells took Isolde back to her childhood.
“Ah! Nothing like a little horse manure to bring in some life into you, eh, Sergeant?!” exclaimed the Scott as she took in a wiff of the place. Bjornson timidly nodded; although he grew up with horses, he had always feared them. He was also heavy set, making it difficult to find a suitable mount.
“Well,” said Edward, “choose your mounts. I’ll get some saddles and tack.” That brown gelding in the third stable is mine.
“Aye.” She went over to the stable. “Do you mind if I petted him?”
“Go right ahead,” Edward replied. “His name is Thunder.”