you've lost nothing but your self-conceit

Skoll Haskel · 04-05-2012, 08:05 PM

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Excerpt not included in word count. +451

Skoll Haskel was almost a man.

Well, that was the thought that stole into his dreams at night. He battled monsters in his sleep and stood bravely in the face of the world. Sometimes he was crowned King of his very own pack—for he’d never take the title from his father, the best King of all—and sometimes he was just a wanderer, with a knapsack tossed over his shoulder and nothing but the open road ahead of him. But always he was a man, all grown up and noble, and always he had more freedom than in the waking hours.

In reality, though, the golden prince was very much a boy. His shift and the acquisition of his very first horse made him feel much bigger and better than he was, his cockiness only increasing with each passing day, it seemed. There were four more long months until he reached one year of age still. He’d never seen summer, had only the warm taste of spring on his tongue thus far. He’d seen war, but that didn’t even mean anything. He was still small in years if not body.

He was content with being a boy sometimes, though. Being a boy meant less work, to begin with. As much as he liked helping the adults with their duties, it was even better to lean against the stall door and read a book.

This time, he was reading out loud to his mare, Hwin. The sabino was pretty shy around the other horses, but she was learning to adjust, and of course Alder had helped her feel at home. Skoll hoped that Alder loved her as much as he did, even if he hadn’t ridden the bay just yet. Maybe soon he’d pester the Marshall about it, and finally climb up onto her back and whoop and ride like he did in his dreams, too.

Licking his thumb, Skoll turned the page and continued to read to the horse, who dozed contentedly in her stall.

“My good Horse," said the Hermit, who had approached them unnoticed because his bare feet made so little noise on that sweet, dewy grass. "My good Horse, you've lost nothing but your self-conceit. No, no, cousin. Don't put back your ears and shake your mane at me. If you are really so humbled as you sounded a minute ago, you must learn to listen to sense. You're not quite the great Horse you had come to think, from living among poor dumb horses. Of course you were braver and cleverer than them. You could hardly help being that. It doesn't follow that you'll be anyone very special in Narnia. But as long as you know you're nobody very special, you'll be a very decent sort of Horse, on the whole, and taking one thing with another.”

He paused and grinned. “You aren’t like silly Bree,” he remarked to the mare, who swayed and snored. “I think you’re a very special horse and that’s why I named you so, because Hwin is humble and smart and—” Finally, he chanced a glance at her closed eyes, his ears standing up with indignation. “Hey! It’s rude to fall asleep when I’m talking to you!” he yapped, and while she jerked her head up with surprise, it was only long enough for her to turn and present the boy with her rump as she found a new position to snooze in. Huffing, he slammed the book shut and tossed it (gently) onto the grass.

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