Shaded with Patience wrote:Username: Shaded with Patience
Name: Drengr (Old Norse for Warrior)
Gender: Stallion
Breed: American Paint Horse
Age: 5 years
Height: 16.2hh
Colour: Buckskin Overo
Personality: Edgy and irritable, you don't want to get too close to this horse. He has a tendency to nip and buck, and his hooves can inflict terrible damage when he is provoked. This would make him a good horse for battle, except for the fact that he lacks discipline. He is, however, loyal and courageous.
Story: set in WWI
My rider, he knew it was coming.
He had me tacked up and ready to go. His comrades laughed at him, told him to lighten up. There won't be an attack tonight, they told him. Not after last night. But he was stubborn, and he tacked me up anyway before putting on his own uniform and getting his gun.
And then the bomb hit.
It was quite far away, but the vibrations traveled up my legs and rattled my teeth. I whinnied and sidestepped, and my rider leapt on to me while his comrades were still scrambling for their uniform and tack. He landed heavily, and I flattened my ears and twisted to let him know how uncomfortable it was to carry him. He patted my neck. Easy, boy, he told me. Just calm down.
I snorted. His legs squeezed my sides; gently, but it was enough. I bolted. Out of the stable, past the campfires and tents. I could see the enemy swarming over the hill, their riders pushing them ever faster. With another whinny, I reared and charged.
I don't quite remember what happened after that. I vaguely remember the rush of blood that greeted me, the sharp pain that seared my forelegs when a dying rider slashed at them-I think I may have killed him outright-, the screams of the enemy.
My next memory is of myself, riderless and alone. The ground was littered with the bodies of the dead, blood staining the once-green grass.
I whinnied.
No reply.
No movement.
Nothing.
Until I heard a cough. My ears pricked. Drengr, croaked a familiar voice. Drengr, come here.
I picked my way through the bodies, shying away at the reek of blood. My rider lay trapped underneath the body of a black mare. A pretty mare, and young. I sniffed at her. No reaction.
A pair of bloody hands grasped my mane. I started up. My rider had wound his fingers into the short, coarse hair and was using it to pull himself up.
I understood. I moved around to the rear of him and let him grasp my mane once again. He winced as I pulled backwards, slowly but surely dragging him from beneath the mare. It was exhausting. He was heavy.
But soon he was out. I lay down, let him drag himself across my back, then walked back across No-Man's Land.
The medics swarmed around me, busying themselves with the man I loved.
And for once, I stood utterly still.
Other: none.
Congrats
