Morning Mood (Logan)
The Here-and-Gone Stable, which is what she'd named it some years ago, sometimes appeared on the hill just across from her cottage. When it did, there were beautiful horses whickering and nickering for someone to come and take them out of their pens. She didn't hesitate when the sunrise lit the rooftops of that stable, but launched herself off the porch and dropped into a sprint. Not much later, she'd picked out a lovely white mare.
Usually she'd take her horse through the park, but this morning, there was a path into the woods. On a lark, she nudged her beast toward the twining trees and stretching vines, and onto the dirt path that slid into the morning shadows.
A few minutes later, it seemed like a mistake. The path had all but vanished, and she was about to turn around and head back -- until the strange crashing sounds came to her. Her mount high stepped and shimmied, and Beauty almost immediately slid off, her palms coming up to sooth the upset horse with soft touches and softer coos. When her horse had settled, she tied the reins to a low-hanging branch, then turned toward the sounds.
From the edges of the clearing, she watched a very familiar figure systematically destroy a huge log cabin. She knew this man. Logan. He had a strange sort of pull on her. When he finally stilled, she waited, then took the few steps she needed to get herself within arms reach.
"Hello," she said gently, her face creased with worry that was clear to see, even in this early morning light.