City boy over here is excitable; the fact that Geralt hasn't turned him out on his ear is apparently all the encouragement that he needs. It's kind of surprising, because usually anyone over the age of fourteen isn't terribly excited about horses, unless they're Geralt. And even Geralt doesn't get bouncy.

"Hm."

The man couldn't manage to stay silent for more than a minute, firing questions off at Geralt as though he physically couldn't contain them in his body. It's... a little overwhelming, and a little annoying. Thankfully he'd trained all of the horses and knows that they aren't skittish, even around ridiculously talkative city boys.

"Yes. Not usually. Yes," he replies, and if he uses the fewest number of syllables possible in this conversation, maybe the kid will get a hint.

Geralt opens the door to the barn and leads him inside, to where the horses are kept. A few of the more curious ones stick their heads out of their stalls, looking at Geralt and the newcomer with big, soft eyes; the others are too busy with their breakfasts to pay them any mind.

"The horses," he says. "Names are on the stall. Don't touch Roach."

He leads him to the store room where the tack is kept, all of the saddles and blankets and bridles, as well as the tools needed for caring for the horses before and after riding them, like the brushes and hoof picks. He shows him the indoor arena, where he'll teach lessons or train the horses, especially if it's too rainy to have the horses outside. And there's a room in the back that's like a break room, with a refrigerator and some chairs and such so that you could keep your lunch there and have it after a lesson or trail ride. It's not the biggest barn, but it's clean and organized and well maintained, and it serves its purpose well.

"Keep your things in the break room. Let's see if you actually know what you're doing."