Fleur's Praise
"Alright, little one, you can't drink too much."
Lucien patted the empty oak barrel beside him and deftly put it away.
But his young Abraxan was clearly unhappy, snorting in dissatisfaction and pawing the ground with its hooves.
Although it is not fully grown yet, this pony's shoulder height is already twice as large as that of the largest Shire horse.
Seeing that it wouldn't leave without being given wine, Lucien smiled helplessly and pulled out a handful of specially formulated Abraxan feed from his pocket.
He raised his right hand, palm up—
With a "whoosh".
A steady flame quietly ignited in his palm.
At the same time, a crimson flame-shaped pattern on the pad of Lucien's middle finger glowed slightly, and a barely perceptible ray of red and orange light flowed out from it, merging into the flame in his palm.
He held the flame in his hand and slowly swept it beneath the feed, the unique magic of the flame instantly bringing out the deep aroma of the feed.
The temperamental little Abraxan was immediately attracted; it turned its head, its warm tongue eagerly reaching out.
Seeing its eagerness, Lucien's smile deepened.
This is similar to how the Thunderbird loves to devour lightning; the Abraxan has an innate affinity for pure fire element.
Phoebe, also riding a young Abraxan, followed beside Lucien, her gaze fixed on Lucien's palm and the strange flame.
After a minor, unexpected incident, the two officially became acquainted.
Upon learning that Lucien had obtained Madame Maxime's permission to explore the mountains surrounding Beauxbatons, Phoebe offered to guide him.
For some reason, when she saw that ball of flame, Phoebe felt a faint sense of closeness and resonance, warm and peaceful, as if she had encountered something of the same origin.
Her Abraxan horse also came over, its big eyes fixed on the delicious feed in Lucien's hand, its meaning couldn't be clearer.
Lucien offered half of the feed to the Abraxan's mouth and chuckled softly:
"To make a horse run, you have to make it eat more grass."
The pony he was riding raised its head and snorted loudly, "Neigh--neigh!"
Lucien understood; the little guy was still thinking about the whiskey.
Alcoholism is cultivated from childhood.
"Lead the way carefully and explore this entire mountain," Lucien patted its sturdy neck and promised, "And there will be good wine when it's finished."
Upon hearing this, the other Abraxan horse quickly swallowed the feed in its mouth and eagerly approached, neighing expectantly.
Lucien reached out and patted its big head, expertly soothing it:
"Yes, there's some for you too. But two buckets are too much. You're still young, and drinking too much will affect your growth... One bucket, at most one bucket, how about that?"
He was like a negotiator, patiently bargaining back and forth with the two ponies.
This sight left Phoebe, who was standing to the side, somewhat stunned.
She clearly heard that Lucien spoke fluent French throughout, not the language of some Magical Creatures race, yet the communication between the man and the two horses was incredibly smooth; their eyes, movements, and tone of voice made it seem like a dialogue.
Unable to contain her curiosity any longer, she asked directly:
"Lucien, you... you can communicate directly with Magical Creatures?"
As Lucien evenly distributed feed to the two ponies who had finally reached an agreement and were content, he nodded naturally:
"Sure."
Phoebe's eyes lit up instantly, a mixture of curiosity and a certain probing flashing across her beautiful blue eyes.
A slightly mischievous smile curved her lips, and as she parted them slightly, a string of ethereal, melodious syllables with a strange rhythm flowed from her mouth. The sound was unlike human language, as if carrying the ticklish sensation of a feather brushing against the skin and the echo of the depths of a forest.
Lucien raised an eyebrow slightly; this must be the language of the Veela.
As for the meaning...
He turned to Phoebe, returned a gentle smile, and answered in clear French:
Thank you for your compliment.