There's two stalls in the stable that no one's really sure as to why they were constructed the way they were — They're made of glass rather than wood or metal.
It doesn't make much sense, really, but they're there nonetheless, and again and again the horses brought to rest within them end up kicking and bucking with distempered fits, hooves mercilessly striking the surface. There's a crack. Another crack. A shatter.
The pieces fall onto the ground in large shards. Very dangerous for horses. Why would someone make them this way?
But, despite the circumstances, the stablehand just picks up the shards. He puts them back into place with new, more colorful pieces. It's stained glass this time, pieced together into wonderful and whimsical mosaics. It's blown glass adornments so perfectly crafted, it has taken months to get just right.
He brings different horses in this time. These horses are older, worn by the trials of life and retired from dressage. They are calm. They are keen. They are well aware of the glass, but they do not fear nor seek to abandon it. Their colors mean something. The patterns and vividity set the two horses apart from all others in the stable.
And that's something beautiful.
