"Grand-owl?" Rose blinked, unintentionally imitating the very creature suggested in her newly conjured nickname. She'd been compared to the animal since she was a child, especially so when she received her glasses in her thirties. It was her quiet, but slightly skittish movements that enhanced the effect but also, or at least Rose hoped, a bit of owl-like wisdom that she had.<br/><br/>Rose pretended to consider Thomas' question deeply for a moment before turning back to Thomas with a smile. "I think that's a perfect name. And maybe you should be called little owl, because we match!" Rose tapped the frame of her glasses with her finger. Rose felt that Thomas had been unsure about the whole glasses thing when it had first been discovered that he needed them, so she had taken him aside and gave him so encouraging words about how nice he would surely look with them, and it didn't mean he had a problem: it was just a little correction.<br/><br/>As Thomas spoke to her from Conor's shoulders, Rose nodded, adjusting the basket that was resting in her left hand and on her hip. Thomas would, with almost absolute certainty, grow to be taller than Rose without the aid of his father putting him up on his shoulders. At five foot five Rose was shorter than many women she met, and quite a lot shorter than the men. There were, of course, exceptions. Like her father, for example. Though Rose supposed he had shrunk with age, once she had reached adulthood she always swore she was taller by a fraction of a centimeter. The sudden thought of her father reminded Rose that they should go to visit sometime soon. While Jacob refused to go into a care home, he had reluctantly moved from the farm to a much smaller property after his wife's, her mother's, death. Rose tried to manage a visit at least once or twice a month, which was sometimes hard to fit as he lived quite a long drive off.<br/><br/>"Of course," Rose was referring to Thomas' question of whether she would saddle Puddles. Recently the horse had picked up the rude trick of exhaling as much as possible while the saddle was being put on, causing it to slip off when he inhaled. It was an easy habit to quell, but Rose had to hand it to him for his cheekiness.<br/><br/>The walk was a pleasant one, with the sunlight peeking through intermittent lazy clouds, and the grass waving lightly in a warming breeze. She could see the horses, heads bowed to munch on the ground's natural salad.<br/><br/>Rose's heart skipped for a tiny moment as Conor flipped Thomas from his shoulders. She was a worrywart, through and through. Except when it came to her own well-being, but that was just a small, unimportant detail of life.<br/><br/>At the mention of River Rose turned to Conor and Thomas. "Can you just check River's old girth sore before you saddle her? It should be fine but I just want to be sure."<br/><br/>The family had acquired River at a sale, and it was evident that she would be a project. From harsh owners before, she had a variety of badly cured sores and injuries, most of which they managed to heal.<br/><br/>The attitude problem was a work in progress.<br/><br/>Rose stepped into the barn, placing the basket and bread on a shelf that also held helmets, an assortment of bridles, and a metal box for keeping documents. She went into the side tack room and brought out several halters and leads, each a different colour and with a name embroidered on the cheek piece. She shifted the one that said 'Puddles' to her right hand and transferred the others to Conor.<br/><br/>"I'll go get Puddles," Rose said, "and I'll meet you two out there." She continued down the path toward the horse field.