Post by The Smith on Oct 27, 2008 1:11:44 GMT -5
"I've never seen such a defeated spirit," remarked Cotter Wells, the Master of Horse.
"He's scared and angry, not defeated," Lord Brynden said, not taking his eyes off the little horse in the corral. Both men stood just outside the corral, leaning on the fence as they watched the little brown rouncey. The small horse was thin and starved, with a sad little wisp of a tail and knobbly knees. Next to the proud, sleek Blackdusk horses, which were the pride of Duskendale, he was a pathetic sight indeed.
But defeated didn't quite describe him. He glared at Brynden and Cotter, standing as far away from them as the corral allowed, ears laced back in bad temper. Brynden knew he'd kick and bite if they tried any funny business, instead of cowering.
"Poor little bastard," Cotter sighed. "He might have been a good horse, if he'd been raised right. Look at his bent legs, his poor shoulders and hindquarters. They starved him and beat him while he was still developing."
"Yes," Brynden said feeling a rush of anger. "Let's hope Master Alan remembers the value of kindness for the rest of his life, or I'll have to remind him."
Brynden had found the horse struggling to pull an overloaded grain cart while his owner whipped him. Then the horse had collapsed in exhaustion, and a sickened Brynden had paid the grain seller for his horse. Then he had the grain seller flogged with the horse whip as a lesson.
Brynden had named the horse "Little Imp". Cotter had suggested that "Little Black-Tempered Son of a Bitch" might be more suitable, but Brynden had merely laughed.
Now Brynden opened the corral door gently and stepped inside. "Careful, my lord," Cotter said, though in truth he was not too worried. Lord Royce's intuitive understanding of horses was well known, and his ability as a trainer was tremendous.
"He won't hurt me," Brynden said quietly. Inside the corral, he used a soft, soothing voice which he knew the horse could hear.
Little Imp watched Brynden approach warily. He stood stiff and tense, poised to flee. As Brynden crossed the center of the round corral, Little Imp glared, uncertain and mistrustful. Then, as Brynden made large movements with his hands, Little Imp took the encouragement and bolted. He cantered in circles around the corral. Round and round he went, cantering fast on poor, twisted legs. His gait was awkward. Back on the fence, Cotter felt a stab of pity as he watched the horse's bent knees in action.
Brynden merely stood in the corral as Little Imp sped around him. He never made eye contact with the horse, just kept driving him to canter. "Do you accept me for your herd leader?", Brynden was asking Little Imp. "Will you follow me and pay me respect?" After a long time, the canter began to slow. Little Imp lowered his head, and one ear pricked towards Brynden as he circled. He began licking his lips.
Herd behavior. Little Imp recognized that he had a choice, and was making it.
Slowly, gently, Brynden turned his shoulders away, and then his body followed. Little Imp had slowed to a trot now. Brynden slowly took a few steps away from the horse.
There was silence. Neither man nor horse moved. Little Imp stood and stared, ears flicking back and forth. Brynden remained where he stood, his back turned to the horse. He could sense Little Imp's feelings at this point. Standing with Brynden would be more comfortable than running in endless circles. The funny red-haired herd leader is giving me a choice. He is gentle. My protector and my equal.
As Cotter Wells watched, the little brown horse walked up Brynden slowly. This was almost a trance, Cotter knew, yet he still watched in fascination. Little Imp was almost in a dream, but he would revert right back to his old behavior soon enough...
A soft brown nose touched Brynden's back, then his shoulder. Warm air blew on his cotton tunic. I accept you, Little Imp was saying. Without speaking, Brynden rubbed the horse's nose gently, remainin calm. He turned to walk away. Little Imp stayed where he was, until Brynden turned to coax him softly. Then the little horse walked after him, and together they made a slow circle around the pen.
"He's following you like a puppy," Cotter said quietly, amazed as Brynden and Little Imp came up to the gate. "Is this the same horse that tried to break his stall door and walls?"
"Yes," Brynden admitted, gently slipping a blue halter over the gelding's nose. The horse shied for a moment - he hated having his head handled - but Brynden shushed him, and slowly slipped the halter on. "He has just accepted my protection. But if I don't continue to work on his general trust of humans, and me, this won't last."
Brynden instructed Cotter in the preparation of Little Imp's stall. The walls were strengthened, and his bedding was generously increased; straw, wood shavings and white sand were piled on.
"It's a stall fit for Nighthawk," Brynden laughed, referring to Duskendale's main stud, a giant black stallion. "But we want our pony to be as comfortable as possible. Don't look so disapproving, Cotter."
"Forgive me, my lord," Cotter said, casting an eye at the now-docile Little Imp. In Cotter's opinion, the little pony was not worth quite this much trouble, but he warmed to his lord's compassionate heart. "It's just...what happens when he's all happy and trusting and healthy? Begging your pardon, but he isn't fit to be in a lord's stables. He could never been seen bearing you or any of your family, friends or retainers, or pulling your carriages..."
"Then he will live in a quiet retirement, and be treated with respect and kindness," Brynden said firmly. "But I am sure we shall find some use for him."
Over the next month, Brynden was constantly at Little Imp's side. He talked to the horse kindly and gently, firm but reassuring. Sometimes he brought treats, but he did not make a habit of it. He introduced Little Imp to some of the other horses, knowing that the little horse would feel more comfortable in a group. The youngest mare, Kitty, took an instant liking to the obstinate stunted rouncey, and soon the two were inseparable companions.
Brynden re-introduced him to the harness, saddle and bridle, and the horse accepted them calmly as long as it was Brynden who harnessed or saddled him. Anyone else, and he shied away, ears laced back. It took a great deal of work before Brynden made sure that the rouncey was comfortable with others saddling him up as well, or driving him.
As Little Imp gradually regained his health, his spirit returned. His body filled out, and his coat had a healthy sheen to it. His ears were pricked with interest when people approached his stall, and his spry manner made him a joy to ride, and soon the gentle kitchen boy was driving Little Imp down to the market to fetch the week's groceries. The little horse was a born showman. He would prance through the market square, all proud and showy. One would hardly noticed his knobbly knees or underdeveloped muscles; they were nothing compared to his sprightly, confident manner. He would sometimes mischievously pick a something up between his teeth and run away with it, or playfully nip the kitchen boy, who he quite liked. He became the darling of the kitchen boy and stable hands for his silliness, much to Brynden and Cotter's satisfaction. It turned out that Little Imp was a suitable name after all.
The word began to spread as the news of Lord Royce's new pony grew. A black-tempered devil turned into a pleasing, lively horse, they said. And Lord Royce tamed and changed more of these brutes every week! He was almost a magician, by the way he could communicate with the horses. He persuaded them to choose him, instead of dominating and breaking them - it was most bizarre, and it made the stories spread even faster.
Result:
- Brynden becomes a local legend in the crownlands as a horseman
"He's scared and angry, not defeated," Lord Brynden said, not taking his eyes off the little horse in the corral. Both men stood just outside the corral, leaning on the fence as they watched the little brown rouncey. The small horse was thin and starved, with a sad little wisp of a tail and knobbly knees. Next to the proud, sleek Blackdusk horses, which were the pride of Duskendale, he was a pathetic sight indeed.
But defeated didn't quite describe him. He glared at Brynden and Cotter, standing as far away from them as the corral allowed, ears laced back in bad temper. Brynden knew he'd kick and bite if they tried any funny business, instead of cowering.
"Poor little bastard," Cotter sighed. "He might have been a good horse, if he'd been raised right. Look at his bent legs, his poor shoulders and hindquarters. They starved him and beat him while he was still developing."
"Yes," Brynden said feeling a rush of anger. "Let's hope Master Alan remembers the value of kindness for the rest of his life, or I'll have to remind him."
Brynden had found the horse struggling to pull an overloaded grain cart while his owner whipped him. Then the horse had collapsed in exhaustion, and a sickened Brynden had paid the grain seller for his horse. Then he had the grain seller flogged with the horse whip as a lesson.
Brynden had named the horse "Little Imp". Cotter had suggested that "Little Black-Tempered Son of a Bitch" might be more suitable, but Brynden had merely laughed.
Now Brynden opened the corral door gently and stepped inside. "Careful, my lord," Cotter said, though in truth he was not too worried. Lord Royce's intuitive understanding of horses was well known, and his ability as a trainer was tremendous.
"He won't hurt me," Brynden said quietly. Inside the corral, he used a soft, soothing voice which he knew the horse could hear.
Little Imp watched Brynden approach warily. He stood stiff and tense, poised to flee. As Brynden crossed the center of the round corral, Little Imp glared, uncertain and mistrustful. Then, as Brynden made large movements with his hands, Little Imp took the encouragement and bolted. He cantered in circles around the corral. Round and round he went, cantering fast on poor, twisted legs. His gait was awkward. Back on the fence, Cotter felt a stab of pity as he watched the horse's bent knees in action.
Brynden merely stood in the corral as Little Imp sped around him. He never made eye contact with the horse, just kept driving him to canter. "Do you accept me for your herd leader?", Brynden was asking Little Imp. "Will you follow me and pay me respect?" After a long time, the canter began to slow. Little Imp lowered his head, and one ear pricked towards Brynden as he circled. He began licking his lips.
Herd behavior. Little Imp recognized that he had a choice, and was making it.
Slowly, gently, Brynden turned his shoulders away, and then his body followed. Little Imp had slowed to a trot now. Brynden slowly took a few steps away from the horse.
There was silence. Neither man nor horse moved. Little Imp stood and stared, ears flicking back and forth. Brynden remained where he stood, his back turned to the horse. He could sense Little Imp's feelings at this point. Standing with Brynden would be more comfortable than running in endless circles. The funny red-haired herd leader is giving me a choice. He is gentle. My protector and my equal.
As Cotter Wells watched, the little brown horse walked up Brynden slowly. This was almost a trance, Cotter knew, yet he still watched in fascination. Little Imp was almost in a dream, but he would revert right back to his old behavior soon enough...
A soft brown nose touched Brynden's back, then his shoulder. Warm air blew on his cotton tunic. I accept you, Little Imp was saying. Without speaking, Brynden rubbed the horse's nose gently, remainin calm. He turned to walk away. Little Imp stayed where he was, until Brynden turned to coax him softly. Then the little horse walked after him, and together they made a slow circle around the pen.
"He's following you like a puppy," Cotter said quietly, amazed as Brynden and Little Imp came up to the gate. "Is this the same horse that tried to break his stall door and walls?"
"Yes," Brynden admitted, gently slipping a blue halter over the gelding's nose. The horse shied for a moment - he hated having his head handled - but Brynden shushed him, and slowly slipped the halter on. "He has just accepted my protection. But if I don't continue to work on his general trust of humans, and me, this won't last."
Brynden instructed Cotter in the preparation of Little Imp's stall. The walls were strengthened, and his bedding was generously increased; straw, wood shavings and white sand were piled on.
"It's a stall fit for Nighthawk," Brynden laughed, referring to Duskendale's main stud, a giant black stallion. "But we want our pony to be as comfortable as possible. Don't look so disapproving, Cotter."
"Forgive me, my lord," Cotter said, casting an eye at the now-docile Little Imp. In Cotter's opinion, the little pony was not worth quite this much trouble, but he warmed to his lord's compassionate heart. "It's just...what happens when he's all happy and trusting and healthy? Begging your pardon, but he isn't fit to be in a lord's stables. He could never been seen bearing you or any of your family, friends or retainers, or pulling your carriages..."
"Then he will live in a quiet retirement, and be treated with respect and kindness," Brynden said firmly. "But I am sure we shall find some use for him."
Over the next month, Brynden was constantly at Little Imp's side. He talked to the horse kindly and gently, firm but reassuring. Sometimes he brought treats, but he did not make a habit of it. He introduced Little Imp to some of the other horses, knowing that the little horse would feel more comfortable in a group. The youngest mare, Kitty, took an instant liking to the obstinate stunted rouncey, and soon the two were inseparable companions.
Brynden re-introduced him to the harness, saddle and bridle, and the horse accepted them calmly as long as it was Brynden who harnessed or saddled him. Anyone else, and he shied away, ears laced back. It took a great deal of work before Brynden made sure that the rouncey was comfortable with others saddling him up as well, or driving him.
As Little Imp gradually regained his health, his spirit returned. His body filled out, and his coat had a healthy sheen to it. His ears were pricked with interest when people approached his stall, and his spry manner made him a joy to ride, and soon the gentle kitchen boy was driving Little Imp down to the market to fetch the week's groceries. The little horse was a born showman. He would prance through the market square, all proud and showy. One would hardly noticed his knobbly knees or underdeveloped muscles; they were nothing compared to his sprightly, confident manner. He would sometimes mischievously pick a something up between his teeth and run away with it, or playfully nip the kitchen boy, who he quite liked. He became the darling of the kitchen boy and stable hands for his silliness, much to Brynden and Cotter's satisfaction. It turned out that Little Imp was a suitable name after all.
The word began to spread as the news of Lord Royce's new pony grew. A black-tempered devil turned into a pleasing, lively horse, they said. And Lord Royce tamed and changed more of these brutes every week! He was almost a magician, by the way he could communicate with the horses. He persuaded them to choose him, instead of dominating and breaking them - it was most bizarre, and it made the stories spread even faster.
Result:
- Brynden becomes a local legend in the crownlands as a horseman