Forest Guardian

Part 1

I jumped out of bed before dawn. I tried to move as quietly as possible, so no one would know I was awake. Outside the window, the sky was already starting to turn orange, but there was still thick fog over the forest.

I quickly went to the wardrobe and pulled out my favorite black pants that I usually use for riding, a black lace-up shirt, and a black caftan embroidered with gold threads. I put my hair in a loose braid and tie it up with a scarlet ribbon, as I am used to doing. Only then do I notice that I have missed a few strands, but I decide to leave them that way, because there is no time to change it.

Today was one of the rare days when I got the chance to ride Vernon. Vernon is my horse, and, unfortunately, I can't ride him whenever I want, even though I turned seventeen and will be eighteen in a week.

The day I saw him for the first time was brightly etched in my memory.

Vernon was brought to us as a gift from the king of our kingdom, Perun, for my father's faithful service. And the only thing I managed to find out was that he used to belong to one of the princes of the enemy country, a prince of the Kingdom of Thala. After the war was over, the horse went to our king, who gave it to my father's possession.

That day I was on my way to town with my friend Vasilisa. There was supposed to be an annual market, which always takes place on Christmas Eve. That's when I saw him. The horse was literally being dragged toward the stables. A wild horse's roaring, loudly pervaded the morning silence. He even clattered one stable boy's hind hooves and broke a couple of ribs and his nose. Vernon is twice the size of any horse we have. His grace, strength, and unbelievable drive for freedom made me stop and watch in a daze as the five big men tried to calm him down.

I could hear my friend calling out to me, telling me that a lot of people were going to rush in and we wouldn't be able to buy her favorite animal-shaped shortbread cookies. But I still couldn't budge. Guided by some unknown force, I headed straight toward him. As if feeling my approach, the horse froze and carefully watched my every step. But he didn't move when I came close to him. And even when I put my hand on his neck and leaned my forehead against his muzzle. When I closed my eyes, I could only hear his strong breathing, but he wasn't kicking or fighting anymore. I stroked his muzzle gently, and I felt the muscles in his neck relax.

When I finally stepped away from the horse, I noticed that everyone was staring at me in a daze. Some had a look of surprise and a certain respect in their eyes, but the rest were looking at me with apprehension and even fear. And from that day on, rumors began to circulate through the city that I was a witch, or even an animal charmer.

To say that my father had punished me back then didn't say anything. He was furious. Though he valued courage more than anything in people, when it came to his only daughter, he sometimes forgot even his principles. But after that, I followed him around for about a month, asking him to give the horse to me. In the end, my father gave up, and on my fifteenth birthday, grudgingly, but still presented the horse to me. But he allowed me to ride it only in the vicinity of our house, in a specially fenced area for training, and only in the presence of Ignat — the head groom.

I sensed, however, that Vernon couldn't stand just rolling around in circles. He needed the freedom, like me, to feel the cold wind on the face that made my nose and cheeks sting.

So, for almost two years now, I've been catching moments when my father and my brother and a few other old friends are out hunting. It's usually no more than a couple of times a week to stock up on food, and it's always at dawn. At first I had a hard time getting up when the sun wasn't even up yet, but now I can't help but jump out of bed.

I went to the door and leaned my ear against it. There's silence in the hallway, which means my father and brother are already in the stables. I open the door and quietly slip into the hallway. It's dark in here, our servants must either be asleep or already in the kitchen making breakfast. I tiptoe toward the back stairs that lead me to the stables. But the planks it was made of were already a little rotten, so it creaked at the slightest rust or draught. This is where I always spend the most time, because right below the stairs is the kitchen, and I'm sure it's already crowded.