Just A Pinch Of Spirit

want to live, bound to die

The sun was beating down hard inside the Arena, and the sound of trumpets announcing Matador's entrance did not help the stallion's nervousness, and the stares of the other horses. Some were more experienced, others young and inexperienced ... but he was completely out of place, feeling as disoriented as a fish out of water, not even hearing something approaching the prairie beneath his hooves calmed him from feeling Matador's heels along his thin flanks.

He tried to fidget, but El Primero's grip was pure iron. He was pulling on the reins mercilessly-if he had pulled harder, Spirit's mouth would have bled for sure.
He was not thrilled at the idea, but what could he do about it?
Control yourself. the mustang kept repeating, as he shook his head pretending to shoo away a fly. El Primero opened one arm and proudly walked toward the crowd with a triumphant smile.

He already seemed sure of his victory, as if the lousy bastard was already shouting to the world that he had tamed that wayward Mustang.... Oh,Spirit was dying to see him land on his bony backside in the sand. But the mantra repeated itself until it became automatic every time he heard the man smile or feignedly attempt to caress his neck.... Spirit had to pretend with all his might.

He took him around the arena at a fast trot during which Spirit felt him bounce terribly on his back-if he had been a little more burly the mustang's back would have been in danger of being very badly hurt. He held the reins very briefly, forcing Spirit to keep his head up and his neck arched. It was indeed an uncomfortable and irritating position.

Then horse and rider stopped in the center of the arena, a man was ready to open a small door.... Spirit felt his heart grow heavy with anxiety.
Ferdinand.
A minute passed, then two, in which the Matador took a series of breaths.

Oh, I'd make you breathe so much sand that you wouldn't have anything left in your lungs for years...you ugly bastard, thought Spirit, you filthy snake, grass-eating, coyote-faced waste of skin...but that series of mental insults was interrupted by El Primero gesturing with his hand toward the man near the door from which the bull was supposed to come out.

Spirit held his breath...

the door opened and the entire arena leaned out of their seats, ready to enjoy the gruesome spectacle of bullfighting.

But for a few moments people murmured in confusion; the bull should have come out with his thundering stride, charging straight at Spirit and El Primero and immediately trying to skewer them...but that did not happen. Ferdinand decided to come forward at the end, but with a slow, shuffling, frightened step.

  He squinted his eyes to adjust to the sunlight, and as soon as the tips of his horns popped out, the crowd jolted to see his enormous stature. He had to duck to get out without slamming his forehead against the upper jamb of the opening; mothers hugged their sons, the men themselves retreated into the seat, and the women backed away. No bigger bull had ever trotted there ... but no more frightened bull had ever desperately sought a horse's eyes; Ferdinand's gray-blue eyes sought Spirit's hazel-brown ones, which tried to convey confidence but were not very effective at that moment, because his feigned calm was betrayed by a marker-painted smile.

El Primero wasted no time in sinking his heels into Spirit's hips, inciting him to move and immediately stretching the muleta to the side, shaking it with annoying movements, just like the touch of a whip on the thigh.

He exclaimed incitements to attack, a bit like one does when one wants to ward off a dangerous animal; quick sounds that were meant to frighten or irritate him, to intimidate him into attacking that red cloth so intense it would give anyone within yards a headache.

Ferdinand began to back away.

"Ferd, no." Spirit said, trying to talk to him but at the same time not to show how pissed off he was at that constant prodding of his hips and pulling on the reins. "Don't show him you're afraid, show him who's in charge!"