The TwiceBorn

Pinchem's New Horse

 "A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams."--Barrymore

                          Ol' Pinchem was speechless.  Never one to miss a hullabaloo, he'd ducked out on Alora's heels and now stood, thunderstruck.  He forgot about the cats that twined through his legs like irritating vines.  Forgot about his dreams of a stable filled with equines instead of felines.  All of that was neatly set aside so he could center his eyes on The Horse.  He vaguely recognized Gareth (a proud-cut pony if he'd ever seen one)  and wrote the scene off to a lovers' tiff.  A warning voice from inside told him to take a closer look but he ignored it with an obstinance  borne from a  white-hot obsession.

Horses had always been a passion since he'd been old enough to walk.  Pony, cob, gelding, stallion, they'd marked his growing up years like a smudge on a wall behind his head.  A good horse was like a good drink. Smooth and easy with a lick of fire added in.  He'd never trusted mares though.  They were too much like women.  They teased and squealed and always wanted the stud on the other side of the fence.  Way too fickle for his tastes. He'd owned a lot of good horses but it had been a long time since he'd seen a stallion like this one.  His heart flip-flopped in a neat series of joyous handsprings.  He felt that old hankering  from long ago rear up to get one, bowed arthritic leg over that satiny back.

 The stud was huge, what Pinchem called "a whomper" back in his riding days and was blacker than pitch. The legs appeared to be carved out of oak and it gave the horse a  a cumbersome look.  Pinchem wasn't fooled.  This horse could bull himself through any situation he wasn't quick enough to get out of.  The eyes were soft and clear. They gleamed with intelligence.  That was a plus because there was nothing worse than a horse dead from the neck up.  The tail was a breath away from touching the ground and the silky mane fell long on a sloping shoulder, a minor glitch in an otherwise perfect animal.

Pinchem frowned and scrubbed his chin fiercely with one shaking hand.  The girl had kept him well, nice and shiny and free of burrs.  He'd bob the tail though and roach the mane as soon as he paid out however much she wanted for him.  He paused.  He didn't like to part  with money.  Maybe she would trade.  Three of those drafts eating their fool heads off for this one.  Hell,he might even throw in a good horse.  He studied the girl again. Beside the immense horse she appeared even smaller and he watched one of her slim hands stroke the stud's muzzle, the gesture delicate.  He smiled.  Maybe she wouldn't have a whole lot to say in the matter of Pinchem's new horse.  He sidled closer to Alora.

"Nice lookin' draft.  Nice lookin.'  I'll give ya two or three drafts for 'em and some coin to boot.  How bout it missy?"

Pinchem's mouth added the coin before he was even aware of it and he knew, right then, The Horse was necessary for him to take another breath and live another day.  He crimped his little pancake hat up into a tight knot, and ignored the dull fire that flickered in his hands.

  Alora stared at the old man.  Wasn't this just a crackerjack ending to a superb day? Out of the corner of her eye she saw Gareth step up close.  He reminded  her of a dog with its fur up and she resisted the urge to drive her elbow deep into his ribcage.  She looked at Pinchem. The old man cut a sad figure.  He stood hunched over, his misshapen hands nothing but fist and bone around his ridiculous hat and she recognized the wild desperation on his face.

It was the desperation of seeing something you could no longer live without and you'd just realized  how little of your life was your own.  She pictured him at the local pub as he waited on a mug of ale with that same look.  She leaned her head against Loki's stout neck.  

No, he's mine."  She replied, and hoped  she sounded firm in light of the way she felt which was completely whipped.  Any place would be better than this right now.  Having red hot slivers run under her fingernails at the church.  Being hung from a rafter in the tavern.  Breathing  cat piss in the Livery.  Any place would do.