Tamer of Horses
Dec. 11th, 2019 09:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tgarnslThe discarded beginning of a fic that is yet to be published.
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They called him Hector, after the tamer of horses from the myths of old; he had no other name, or at least none that he could recall, and he did not need one. He lived apart from the rest, sleeping alongside the horses he loved so well, and spent his hours from midmorning to dusk working in the inn’s stables. The early morning he spent at the quay, watching the boats on the river, a small bag at his side — why he waited, day after day, no one was sure, but the townsfolk let him be.
Mme. Charpentier, the innkeeper’s widow, once asked him what he waited for.
“My ship,” he said to her, his blue eyes alight with hope. She did not have the heart to tell him that there was no ship, that there had been no ship for him for five long years, that there never would be a ship for him. Instead she slipped him a sou and touched his cheek fondly. He beamed at her and she wondered who he’d been before the Seine washed him up on the shores near Caudebec, if he’d ever had a mother, if he’d ever been loved.
But he could not answer any of those questions, and so Mme. Charpentier left him to his waiting; there was nothing else she could do for him.
--
They called him Hector, after the tamer of horses from the myths of old; he had no other name, or at least none that he could recall, and he did not need one. He lived apart from the rest, sleeping alongside the horses he loved so well, and spent his hours from midmorning to dusk working in the inn’s stables. The early morning he spent at the quay, watching the boats on the river, a small bag at his side — why he waited, day after day, no one was sure, but the townsfolk let him be.
Mme. Charpentier, the innkeeper’s widow, once asked him what he waited for.
“My ship,” he said to her, his blue eyes alight with hope. She did not have the heart to tell him that there was no ship, that there had been no ship for him for five long years, that there never would be a ship for him. Instead she slipped him a sou and touched his cheek fondly. He beamed at her and she wondered who he’d been before the Seine washed him up on the shores near Caudebec, if he’d ever had a mother, if he’d ever been loved.
But he could not answer any of those questions, and so Mme. Charpentier left him to his waiting; there was nothing else she could do for him.
no subject
Date: 2019-12-12 06:54 am (UTC)And of course Bush has plenty of experience with ornery and temperamental creatures.
He does!
I didn't say, but I'm glad we got to see this discarded beginning, and I'm looking forward to seeing what you went with instead.