The Fight

Prologue

     The night was dark and warm around him. It was summer, but there was none of the usual joy or bliss that accompanied the balmy nights of Spain. Instead, the air was strung so tight with nervous tension that it was almost tangible. The other horses were restless, and they shifted in their stalls with snorts and hooves that scraped against the ground. They had heard the screams of the woman and their fellow comrade after the fight. They knew that something in the ring had gone horribly, horribly wrong. The dun stallion who had been previously deemed a waste of time pricked his ears, catching the soft patter of footsteps as he stuck his head out of his stall, focused on the sound of approaching footsteps.
     The girl emerged out of the darkness, her face streaked with tears and a bag slung over her shoulder. The stallion let out a soft whicker as he recognized his girl. She approached him, and stroked his neck, all the while murmuring sweet nothings that never failed to calm him. He arched his neck to nibble at her hair but she only cupped his face in her hands and kissed the velvet of his nose. Without another pause she whirled away into the darkness of the tack room before returning again with his saddle and bridle in her arms. The stallion pricked his ears in curiosity. It was very late at night and he knew that they could not possibly be training at a time like this. But nonetheless, the girl mounted and with a touch of her leg they walked out into the night.
     As soon as they were clear of the stable, she urged him on, her energy convincing him to move into a brisk canter. But not towards the arena - no, his girl asked him to canter in the direction of the front gates, off the property. After a moment of uncertainty, he moved forward into a liquid canter when someone stepped in front of their path. The featherlight tension of her fingers gripping the reins had him sliding to a stop as the figure of the man stood out stark against the night. He felt her fear wash over him as if it were his own, striking deep and true into his core. He pinned his ears, and yielded a step when the figure began to speak. He did not like this man. He remembered him before he was gifted to the girl. And those memories were not pleasant.
     The girl said nothing as her legs closed in on his sides. He leaped forward, gathering himself in a gallop, one ear on the man he would surely have to run down, and one on the girl on his back. She did not yield the pressure on his sides, and he pinned his ears, focused on the figure as if he were nothing more than a bull in the ring, his neck arched and stride taut as they closed in on the man.
     At the last moment, half a stride away from them making contact, he leapt out of the way, and girl and horse spirited away into the night and away from what was once their home.