"Okay, little guy, that's enough booze for you."
Lucien gave the now-empty oak keg beside him a friendly pat and neatly tucked it away.
But the young rune-steed under him clearly wasn't happy about it. It snorted in protest through its nostrils and pawed the ground a couple of times.
Even though it wasn't fully grown yet, the colt's shoulder height already towered over the biggest Shire horses by a good margin.
Seeing the "no more whiskey, no more walking" attitude, Lucien chuckled helplessly, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of specially blended rune-steed feed.
He raised his right hand, palm up.
Whoosh.
A steady flame sparked to life in the center of his palm, burning quietly.
At the same time, a crimson flame-shaped mark on the pad of his middle finger glowed faintly. A nearly invisible thread of red-orange light flowed from it and merged into the fire in his hand.
He passed the flame slowly beneath the feed, and the unique magical fire instantly brought out the deep, rich aroma hidden inside the pellets.
The sulky little rune-steed perked up immediately. It swung its head around, warm tongue already reaching eagerly for the treat.
Watching how impatient it was, Lucien's smile widened.
It was the same principle as thunderbirds loving to gobble up lightning. Rune-steeds were naturally drawn to pure fire elements.
Fleur, riding her own young rune-steed beside him, hadn't taken her eyes off Lucien's palm and that strange flame.
After a small mishap earlier, the two of them had properly introduced themselves.
Once she learned that Madame Maxime had given Lucien permission to explore the mountains around Beauxbatons, Fleur had offered to show him the way.
For some reason, when she looked at that flame, a gentle sense of kinship and resonance stirred in her chest—warm, peaceful, like coming across something from the same source.
Her own rune-steed edged closer too, big eyes fixed on the delicious feed in Lucien's hand, its intentions crystal clear.
Lucien split the handful in two and offered half to her mount, laughing softly.
"You've gotta feed the horse if you want it to run."
His own colt lifted its head and let out a loud, cheerful whinny: "Neeiigh—neigh!"
Lucien understood perfectly. The little rascal was still thinking about that whiskey.
Boozehounds are made, not born.
"Be a good guide, finish the tour of these mountains," Lucien said, patting the colt's sturdy neck, "and there'll be good whiskey waiting when we're done."
The other rune-steed, hearing that, quickly swallowed its mouthful and crowded in with an eager whicker.
Lucien reached over and rubbed its big forehead, soothing it like an old friend.
"You'll get yours too, don't worry. But two whole barrels is way too much—you're both still growing. Too much alcohol stunts your development… one barrel, tops. Deal?"
He bargained patiently back and forth with the two young colts like they were kids haggling for candy.
The whole scene left Fleur staring, a little stunned.
She'd clearly heard Lucien speaking fluent French the entire time—not some magical creature language—yet the conversation between one wizard and two horses flowed perfectly. The looks, the gestures, the tone—it was real dialogue.
She couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer.
"Lucien… can you actually talk to magical creatures?"
While evenly dividing the now-agreed-upon treat between the two satisfied rune-steeds, Lucien nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Yeah, pretty much."
Fleur's eyes lit up instantly. A mix of curiosity and playful testing flickered in those pretty blue eyes.
The corner of her mouth curved into a sly little smile. She parted her red lips, and a string of ethereal, melodic syllables floated out—light and pleasing, yet carrying a strange rhythm, like feathers brushing skin or echoes deep in an enchanted forest.
Lucien raised an eyebrow. That had to be the Veela tongue.
As for the meaning…
He turned to her with a warm smile and answered in clear French:
"Thanks for the compliment."