The Herd

A chill wind gusted about the stable's double doors, picking up stray pieces of straw and whirling them about. Fairly well kept tack swung slightly in the cool breeze, metal links and buckles of bridles, breast collars, stirrups and reins clacking quietly. A loose board in one of the stalls gave a faint thump. Valdish pricked his ears, his gray-black nostrils blowing softly, scenting the air. He wondered where the stable boy had gotten off to.

For that matter, where was his master? The big man with pale hair like his. No, not like his, he thought, turning his neck to rub an itchy spot just behind his left foreleg. Valdish's hair was white as snow, except for his black mane and tail and the hair of his lower legs which deepened from a charcoal gray to the sooty black of his hooves. The man's hair was a pale yellow, like dried grass in summer.

Grass! Valdish dropped his head and nosed about the floor of his stall. He found a bit of hay he'd overlooked and nibbled it thoughtfully as the wind gusted again. There was something on the wind! Something that foretold of danger approaching, of flight and combat. Absently, he struck first one front hoof then the other against a board of his stall. He nickered with satisfaction at the solid 'thunk' of the blows. His master would be pleased, he was sure. It seemed important to the big man Valdish learn to do this.

He stopped, dropping both hooves back to the ground at a low nicker from his left. The gray fey one, Mos Shol, regarded him mildly, ears forward, his black tail swishing idly. Valdish nickered back, dipping his head and the gray one returned the greeting. They both looked toward the double doors as the wind gusted through again, a stuttering tremble amidst an eerie calm. Almost simultaneously, the skin of their withers shivered. They looked at each other, nodding in apparent understanding.

Valdish turned to his right, leaning his head over the wall of his stall. The pony filly lay sleeping. Valdish stretched down his head, nudging her on the neck with his nose. He whickered and she lifted her head, yawning sleepily, then laid her head back down. Valdish laid back his ears, stomping a hoof imperiously, and with a louder whicker, gave her a sharp nip on the rump.

Daisy lurched to her feet with a squeal of outrage. Ears laid back, she rolled her eyes angrily. She gave the wall of the stall a half-hearted kick, but it still rattled the board.

Valdish nickered an apology, but the little pony turned her back to him. Giving an exasperated blow through his nostrils, Valdish nosed about until he found an apple he had nosed under some straw for later. Picking it up carefully in his teeth, he tossed it to her. It struck Daisy on the shoulder, bouncing to the ground near her hoof. She sniffed it briefly, then turned her head away, sulking.

Valdish waited, his tail swishing patiently. Mos Shol watched with quiet amusement. In a few moments, Daisy's head swung back and she picked up the apple and ate it. She ambled over to touch noses with Valdish, nickering her thanks.

The wind stirred again, rattling through the stable more insistently. This time, all three looked toward the doorway. Valdish nickered low in his chest. Mos Shol and Daisy answered him. They were ready to go. Something was coming.

To be continued...