The Horse Man

Peace Disrupted

Horses are the only thing I have cared about all the many years of my life. I have owned dogs, of course, and I do like them, and of course I do like my home, so wonderfully hidden in a lush mountain meadow. But I would give them all up in less time than it takes a heart to pulse, to save the least of my horses from injury.
I live in what people call America now. What a funny joke. They are so smug, thinking that this land is such a new country, that they have developed it. Imbeciles.
When I first came here, so very many years ago, I came by land. It was possible then, though it is no longer. I came because I had lived too long in the hot, sandy lands where my beloved horses came to me.
It was a terrible journey. I had no knowledge of what lay ahead of me, and I was not prepared for the snow and ice, the searing cold, the lack of grazing. Twelve of my darlings perished, despite all that I could do. I still cherish their memories: Ariya, Sasha, Toma, Ilíen, Hiro, Alannah, Kiera, Lia, Sonja, Alaska, Sunlight and Bliss Unending.
But I brought the rest of them, the precious creatures so dear to me. And now we live in this country, me, and my horses' descendants.

I woke up one morning to the sound of Silvara whinnying so hard it is a wonder she did not loose her guts. She does this sometimes, to tell me something is wrong.
“I will be there momentarily, my precious one! Hush you!” I shouted out my window at her, and scrambled out of my bed, snatching up a longbow. Sometimes, Silvara summons me for a good reason, like a hungry humpbacked bear.
I hurried out my door, and there is Silvara, bellowing at a… a boy? How is this possible? Never have I had invaders, visitors, whatever you wish to call them, in my home here in this meadow! I am angry. I do not wish to move again. This meadow produces all the hay my dear ones need, as well as their forage and my own garden. Where again should I find such a place to live? Briefly, I feel the desire to shoot this invader with my obsidian tipped arrow.
“What do you do here?” I snap, instead.
The boy replies, “Just out hiking, and I got lost, bro. I think I gotta cut on my leg, and I got a ton a' blisters. So cool I found you! I thought I was gonna die! You got some serious fab horses here, man. Wow. Gotta take a pic- oh yeah, my phone’s dead. Hey, this meadow isn’t on my topographical map. How can you live here and nobody even knows this location exists? I mean, you got no roads, no electricity, I bet you can’t even get Internet here, and probably not Cable either. I bet you don’t hafta pay much for taxes though. That’s cool. Hey, can I get some band aids?”
This makes very little sense to me. I know how to speak English, but this is very confusing, and I wonder if perhaps it is a different language, with similarities, like Latin and Italian. I reply to what I understand.
“I have lived here for many, many years. I prefer to live where there are no mapped records. I cannot understand how you have come to be here. I wish that you will go home and not return. I dislike visitors, and you disturb my dear ones.”
Silvara is hiding behind me. Or rather, she thinks that she is hiding. She is actually to big to hide behind anything smaller than a wall.
“Sha, sha, pretty mare. Nothing here will hurt you,” I croon.
“Oh, so you’re, like, a survivalist? That’s cool. Why don’t you have solar? I thought survivalists always had solar. Oh, but survivalists always have shotguns. You must be a hippie, or something. Hey, can we go inside? I’m, like, way cold.”
This makes no more sense than the last bout of babble. I think that he wishes to go into my house, so I scowl at him. “My house is not an inn. Neither am I from Eire, that I must allow you entry where I do not wish you to be. Go away and do not come back.”
“But dude! I dunno where I even am! I can’t go away! I’d just get lost again. I am so tired and cold! I wanna shower and I am so hungry! And maybe you could, like, show me how to get back to the trail. Seriously, I don’t wanna put you out or anything, but I really need some help!”
I do not like this person. He is noisy and demanding, and Silvara does not like him, either. I do not think that I should send him away, though, because he does seem very stupid, and he would probably be dying if I did.
I walk into my house and leave my door open. The boy comes in, followed by Aristides, one of my young studs. I do not mind if Aristides comes in. He is very well mannered, indeed. He walks carefully on my shiny floor, and stands by my kiln. The boy dumps his haversack on the floor and flops into a carven chair in which I sit at mealtimes.
When I abode for a time in Eire, the people there had very strict laws concerning guests. It is why I came to leave, though it was a grand place for the raising of my dear horses.  I wonder if the people who now rule this land have such laws? Or perhaps this boy is a member of their royal house. That would explain his hubris in entering my home without invitation and seating himself so brashly within my chair. Still, if I am to be a host, I must not complain of the bad manners of my guest. It is not fitting.
“May I offer you food to break your fast?” I ask, imitating the butler of an Austrian nobleman.
The boy looks at me in a stupid manner. “Uh, yeah, I want food…” he replies, hesitantly, as though he did not understand me. I shake my head and gather up a dish for him, and fill it with food. Eggs from a wild partridge (I cannot abide fowl, so I do not keep my own), toasted flat bread which I sprinkle with salt and oil and a cheese which I learned to make in Greece.  I hastily fry some puma shank slices, and arrange two dishes filled with food. I set one before him, and I take the other myself.
“Thanks, this is really good.”
He says this after stuffing his face like a Viking for nearly five minutes.
“Do you raise pigs? This is like pork, but it must taste a little different because of no processing. This pita bread is amazing! And this feta cheese, wow! It is delicious. Where do you buy this stuff?”
“Thank you. I make all my own food, I have not been near a city in many years. I do not raise swine, they foul the soil so that my treasures cannot graze it. This is the flesh of a puma.”
The boy chokes.  I cannot wait until I am rid of him.

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Please vote and comment. This is my first story, so please be nice and share it if you liked it!
You are more than welcome to suggest cast members, to post pictures of whom you think everyone looks like, and if you are inclined to make a cover, I will be most grateful and give credit where credit is due! My computer skills are sadly lacking.
Thank you!

              A word on plagiarism:
                      DON'T
Some more words on plagiarism:
Mean. Lazy. Dishonest. Wicked. Bad. Illegal.
So don't do it, or a fire breathing dragon may get you, an elephant may sit on you, a dog may bite you, and legal action will be taken against you. It will be really sad, and it won't be worth it.🐼