Title taken away from Napoleon Bonaparte, "The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies."
Annual Christmas festivities had turned out to not be a complete and utter disaster this year.
The Christmas Eve party had been less horrible than in many years past, dance withstanding and the relentless questioning afterward. Primrose was quite content neither Cepheus nor she would be bullied into forming an attachment anywhere into the future.
[1] That was good to know, and they’d walked away from one another without committing some egregious social sin, which was definitely a step in the right direction.
Not that Primrose felt any sort of obligation to being kind to people, but she rather disliked her parents harping on her about how she acted around
“perfectly civilized” young men. He might have been civilized but that was truly barking up the wrong tree.
Speaking of barking, the best thing to come out of this Christmas was the glorious addition of her newest companion,
Honey to the Woolfolk family. While not exactly a puppy, her father had purchased the perfect pet: young and spirited, trained to follow commands, and at ease around large animals. So, taking Honey out with the horses was a treat.
Today, she’d woken up with the sun peeking over the hills and decided to sneak out before anyone would be the wiser. An early morning ride was just the sort of thing to liven one’s spirits. She carried her
boots to the backdoor before tugging them on and quietly shutting the door behind her, Honey trailing at her heels.
Success!
Perhaps the most satisfying feeling was walking across the frostbitten grass – crackles below her feet and the chill biting at her cheeks. Honey, of course, ran circles around her, darting forward and then coming back, which Primrose found much more charming in an animal than she ever would in a human. Reaching down, she scratched the dog’s ears as it jogged next to her and she sighed.
The New Year was upon them and Primrose had much to accomplish.
Luckily, the Trumble boy had been located alive
[2], so her proposals could be seen as reactive to a happy ending, rather than preying on the unfortunate. It would be groundbreaking, if it could happen: installing ministry personnel at each safe house, regardless of its status as private or not could ensure fewer mistakes happened. It could ensure if a werewolf went missing they’d be notified much more quickly. The check-in system needed to be enforced, after all. Without it, anyone could be considered a sitting duck for a number of tragedies. She knew she could use that emotion.
It was just a matter of time. Prim could be patient though.
The holiday would be over, they would reassemble and Prim would deliver her proposal. Swinging the doors of the stable open with the quick flick of her wand, she strode in and over the concrete floor. The pleasant crunching she’d just enjoyed changed so suddenly and was replaced by the clicking of hard soles, the restless flicking of a tail or two, the snorting and breathing of a restless morning.
It was everything a perfect morning was made of. “Come along Honey,” she looked down at the dog, patiently waiting at her feet, “Let’s get Valentine, shall we?” she smiled and made her way down the row of stalls. After she’d tacked up, she’d open the paddock to the others. Grazing could start early.
[Jan 2] Who Controls the Chaos [Snapshot]