Transmigrated into a Fantasy World with No Clue What To Do Chapter 20: Chapter 19: Rún / A Little Chat With The Duke

Read chapter 20 of Transmigrated into a Fantasy World with No Clue What To Do by PrincessArylin on NovelPedia.

Chapter 19: Rún / A Little Chat With The Duke Once back at the porte-cochère, I follow the paved path to the right that leads around the keep to where the stables are. To the left, sitting flush with the walls of the keep, is a covered area where several carriages of varying size are stored. The smaller of them are plainly colored and adorned with the Braemar crest which is simply a shield adorned with a large tree with twin bears on either side, the roots of the tree are spread across the bottom, breaking free of the confines of the shield. The larger ones are more ornate, with gold and silver filigree decorating the trim, and are adorned with the family crest as well. The stables proper are a large structure that is enclosed with two large doors that are currently standing open facing me. Curious, I wander in, my guard detail stopping at the door and taking post, two to either side. Immediately on my left I see a huge chestnut colored stallion, his body thickly covered in muscles. Goliath. His name comes to me unbidden and I know that he is my dad’s horse. Walking over to him, I raise my hand and he presses his cheek into it, nuzzling me gently. “Hi there,” I say, knowing that he can’t understand what I am saying, but not really caring. “H-how are you, Goliath?” He snorts softly as if responding and swings his head towards me, bumping me on the shoulder. “Is that so?” I respond with a smile. “Well, I’ll talk to the s-stable master and see that you are given an extra serving of oats for dinner since you have b-been such a good boy.” I reach up and pet him on his forehead, causing him to lower his head for me so I give him a soft kiss just above his nose. I move on to the next stall which houses a grey mare whose name I instantly know is Féth. She is my mother’s horse and she has a cold attitude that matches my mother’s. Seeing the attention Goliath had received, she just tosses her head and eyes me with disdain, so I move on to the next stall with a young blue roan. “Rún.” A memory surfaces of the day my dad presented Rún to me. It was on the day I turned thirteen and Rún had only been born just a few hours prior. He knew that I had wanted a horse of my own because I had been begging him nearly constantly for one leading up to my birthday. The morning of, my dad led me down to the stables and introduced us to one another. I instantly fell in love with the adorable colt and asked my daddy what his name was. He told me that I would have to ask the foal myself, so I did and listened very hard for a response but heard nothing. It wasn’t until months later, after weaning started, that his name came to me as I was grooming him, which was something my father insisted I do daily to bond with him. And groom him daily I did, with the only exceptions being when social functions left me little time to do so. Mom wasn’t a huge fan of it because you tend to get dirty and smell a bit after a grooming session, but she never told me I couldn’t and made sure I had the time to care for Rún with my regular schedule. There was even a minor spat between Mom and Dad over it, but in the end, she gave in. Thankfully, no memories of my old life pull me in at the same time, as they have done in the past when I had a somewhat relevant memory as Michael. One thing I have noticed in the past couple of days is that when I remember something from my life as Michael, the memory has been getting distorted. Instead of being Michael, in the memories, I am Beira, and the events in the memory are slightly different than they actually happened. The last couple of times I have had a memory of my old life, I have had to stop and focus on the memory, lest the inconsistencies persist. I sigh to myself and wonder just how much Damian’s mistake is going to affect my sense of self. I have already started to feel as if I am slipping away bit by bit due to the, as Damian put it, bleed effect on my memory. I’m ok possessing two distinct sets of memories, but when the set of