Kanda's window faces east, which means in the mornings sunlight will flood the room and the bed, but this morning it spills across a conspicuous emptiness. The first rosy streaks are just shooting across the sky when Kanda pulls the stable doors open, pockets heavy with sugar filched from the kitchen. Most of the horses are asleep, but there is a banging from the stall on the very end. When he passes a fat man snoring loudly in one of the empty stalls, face smeared with dirt and a bottle of some unidentified alcohol curled loosely in one meaty hand, Kanda grimaces.

The tack on the wall isn't in much better shape, dusty and stained, and Kanda runs his fingers over it before sighing and turning around to face the black bay. Bishamon, he remembers. It eyes him warily.

Kanda makes a decision.

At first the bay doesn't seem to know what to do about the open stall door, but the hesitation only lasts a second and then it is gone, thundering out of the tiny box like it has been spring-loaded, forward and around, nose pointed at the open air. Kanda clutches the door, heart pounding. It is several more moments before he can let go. The man in the stall does not even interrupt his snoring.

There is some saddle soap and a towel on the shelf that sticks out from the wall, as well as a bucket underneath it, and Kanda gathers all this plus the brushes and saddle up and heads outside. He's gratified to learn the bay hasn't gone far, just to the middle of the field, and is grazing placidly on the dew-covered grass there. There is a stump of a tree trunk next to the fence maybe a hundred yards from where it is standing, and Kanda dumps off the equipment there before heading back to the side of the stable to pump the bucket full of water.

The bay is already pretending not to watch him as he sets the bucket down and sits on the stump to start working over the saddle, and by the time he is done with the tack it's all but bumping against his thigh as it grazes at his feet. Still ostensibly not looking. Kanda allows a small smile to flirt across his lips.

"Good boy," he murmurs, digging out a handful of sugar. After exhaling loudly the bay lips across his palm, nose soft against Kanda's other hand. "You're not unmanageable, Walker is just incompetent."

Then it tries to bite at Kanda's pockets.

Kanda swears and smacks back, once across the bay's neck, causing a small cloud of dust to rise up and swirl away. It whuffs and eyes him again, muscles stiff.

"Christ," Kanda says when it lowers its head to the grass again, a half-remembered epithet spoken by a man with hair the color of barley before the harvest. He shakes himself and loops a thin rope around the bay's neck, securing it to the fence, not willing to push his luck with a bridle just yet.

It turns out to be unnecessary, since the bay all but leans into him as Kanda starts going over his coat with the comb, dirt and dead hair falling to the ground. Kanda's movements are awkward at first, too wide, but his muscles soon adjust to memory. He becomes aware of someone else watching him only when he is almost finished. The bay is clean but now Kanda is covered in grime, dust in his hair and across his face. He wipes his mouth and turns toward Lavi, Allen behind him, both a safe distance away, silent against the fence.

"You didn't show up to breakfast," Allen offers. "We were looking for you." Lavi's expression is bland and unreadable.

"Is that drunkard in the empty stall in charge of your horses?" Kanda asks instead.

"Um," Allen says. "Yes?"

Kanda rolls his eyes. "Fire him."

"But I can't do—"

"Your problem," Kanda says, smacking the bay away where it's trying to go for his pockets again, "is that you're always trying to fucking compromise. If you don't stand up for yourself, everything you've worked for is going to fall apart. You have to take control. Once you let a horse get away with something, it's going to keep pushing the boundaries."

"Cross never had any problems"

"With the horse? Or with that man?" Kanda lets out a short bark of a laugh. "It's probably the same problem with the both of them. Let me guess, he came to you with some sob story about his sick wife and his five kids." He knows he's hit close to the mark from the expression on Allen's face. "Thanks to your little compromises, this horse is going to have to be rehabilitated from the ground up."

Allen's face pales, something like shame flickering across his features. Kanda feels a brief pang of guilt in the pit of his belly, but he tightens his fingers in the bay's mane and scowls. Allen's eyes eventually drop to the ground.

"I'll have . . . the housekeeper draw some water for you," Allen says finally. "Excuse me."

"Well," Lavi says when Allen is out of earshot, voice deceptively easy. "I was going to say I'm surprised how soon that happened, but really, I'm surprised it took you so long." He slides his gaze over to Kanda. "Welcome back."

Kanda snorts. "Help me get the horse into the enclosure."