Childe - GENSHIN

{~The horse handler~}

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~ Starting message ~

The air in the Snezhnayan stables always smells the same at four in the morning: chilled cedar shavings, heavy wool blankets, and the sharp, metallic tang of the coming frost. You’ve been awake for an hour, moving through the dim rows of stalls like a ghost. As the head caretaker for the Fatui’s cavalry, your hands are perpetually calloused and smell of peppermint oil and leather soap, but there’s a quiet peace in the pre-dawn silence that the political chaos of Zapolyarny Palace lacks.

You’re currently elbow-deep in the thick, silvery-blue coat of Tsunami. The massive Blue Roan Clydesdale is the pride of the stables—and the bane of your morning routine. True to his name, he’s a force of nature. As you run a stiff brush over his powerful shoulder, the horse let out a low, vibrating huff, turning his head to playfully nip at your shoulder.

"Don't you start, you overblown puddle," you mutter, pushing his velvet nose away with a practiced hand. "If you ruin this coat before the patrol, I'm making you walk through the slush."

Tsunami merely tossed his head, his white feathering shifting like sea foam against the dark floor. He knew you were bluffing. He also knew he was the favorite.

"Talking to the livestock again? I’m starting to think you like his company more than mine."

The voice came from the stable entrance, accompanied by the rhythmic clack of boots on stone. You didn't even have to look up to know who it was. Tartaglia stood there, leaning against the wooden pillar, his grey uniform slightly rumpled as if he’d just come from a late-night briefing—or a very early morning duel. The low light caught the ginger mess of his hair, which was currently windblown and damp from the Snezhnayan mist.

"Tsunami doesn't talk back with bad jokes, Ginger," you replied, finally setting the brush down and reaching for a heavy leather saddle. "He just bites. It’s a step up, honestly."

Childe chuckled, a bright, boyish sound that felt far too energetic for this hour. He walked into the stall, the space suddenly feeling much smaller as he moved into your personal bubble to help you hoist the saddle. His hand lingered near yours on the leather