Golden Glory
"In the golden olden glory of the days gone by" by James Whitcomb Riley
Chapter One: In Which We Reminisce
The flaxen tendrils of dawn's rosy light filtered through the thick barrier created by the dark shrouded forest. The gaps between branches were sparse near winter, some evergreens retaining their immense influence over the frozen ground. In the horizon made invisible by the forest that stretched for miles, the sun arched into the dimming darkness. The boy hefting bundles of hay into the dusty barn took little notice about the shift, having been outside for a little over an hour. The cold assaulted his numb face, a sensation he grew accustomed towards over the years.
The rickety wooden structure called home was alight with smoke for the morning's meal beyond the pasture. When the horses were fed and watered he could return to the warmth and the musty little cabin where his mentor waited. A little over two weeks ago Jared had met the man in the yard belonging to his father the Horsemaster. The surprise that he was not following in his father's footsteps still baffled him even when he was miles from home. From birth he expected to train the battle horses in the stables, destined for a knightly companion.
The small, shaggy mounts he heard about in brief conversations with his father and saw glimpses of throughout the years were not his expectations. The respect for the Ranger's horses was present of course, but Jared admitted that he preferred battle horses over them. Until Old Bob decided that he needed an apprentice and introduced Jared to the unique job of caring for and training all the steeds here in Redmont fief. Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, Jared heaved the heavy wooden doors to the stable closed and started across the pasture.
Until today Old Bob delegated him the grunt work and allowed him time to grow accustomed towards the different horses on the farm. Some names were already ingrained in his mind, belonging to the most memorable horses from the herd of grey and brown animals. Few explanations were provided under the promise that when he received his first horse to train all would become clear. The excitement kept him hard at work the past fortnight, wondering which horse among the herd he fed and cared for would be his to mold into its true potential.
Above the wonderful freedom felt when riding the animals, Jared cherished the moment when his father sent away those mounts so carefully trained. In recent years his father allowed him to lend a hand in the training of the battle horses and Old Bob had wanted to disperse those habits. It was all well enough since Jared knew he was rusty in the skills taught by his father by now. The Ranger's horses were to be treated much differently than any other. How he might teach the intelligent creatures baffled him.
Leftover soup with semi-fresh bread was for breakfast in the tiny, dingy cabin recently cleared of the dust that had layered it for years. Old Bob wasted little time in eating, a quick wave the only indication that he acknowledged Jared's arrival. Rather famished himself, he shed his gloves and took up a loaf of bread. One strange thing he'd learnt here was that these horses' milk was consumable. Old Bob didn't produce the drink for anyone else. From what Jared knew and observed, the man rarely faced society. The cold drink gave a satisfying contrast with the hot soup.
"Gotta keep back up horses for the Rangers, ya might guess. Just in case 'un gets injured or dead, we keep a big herd. Ranger Sheldon lost 'is in a mighty unlucky cliff ambush; I'm training Jarek, ya might have noticed 'im. Nice fresh temper, he has. Almost ready to leave," Old Bob said between unrestrained bites. Jared nodded, accepting the information as it came. At last he was getting answers and explanations from his mentor. He took a small personal satisfaction in remembering Jarek, the dun stallion who acted as if he owned the world.
Breakfast concluded as usual, the small talk consisting of weather and pasture conditions. In relative silence they released the horses into the pastures to rejoin the herd. The hardier ones were left outside until conditions grew horrendous, at which point they stabled every horse. Jared found himself reminded that these were a whole different breed of horse, tough and durable. The foaling mares and their young offspring were virtually the only ones inside. Within the week, most of his father's battle horses would leave the pastures during the night.
Old Bob called Jarek and the dun trotted over in an instant. Jared watched in amazement as the little horse's ears flickered and responded to the command, much like the dogs on his father's farm. While his mentor rubbed a gloved hand over the stallion's nose, he called another name. Jared leaned against the wooden fence, aware that the herd wouldn't run away even if it were absent. A shaggy chestnut mare broke off into a slow canter, stopping at the fence and prancing all the while. With a toss of her head she observed Jared, intelligent eyes almost full of mirth at his appearance.
"Am I training her?" he inquired, already knowing the answer. Old Bob chuckled and responded in the affirmative, motioning towards the smaller pasture where he'd seen the man and stallion work. A little ways down the pasture was an open section where a gate would normally go. Jared quickly learnt that the horses had little desire to stray further than the woods' edge. Old Bob made a hand motion to the dun stallion, which trotted for the opening. The slightly smaller mare stood still for a moment until Jared realized this was his first lesson. He had no doubt that the horse would teach him for awhile.
"Her name's Constance, two years old. Handles the basics well enough," Old Bob offered as he slipped into the barn to retrieve two worn halters and a single saddle. Jared accepted the information readily, mentally listing off what skills he needed to teach her. To his partial surprise, the mare accepted the halter with a good temper and followed him without fuss. Many two year olds and yearlings were high-spirited and a bit difficult to calm down. Stroking her chestnut coat, he followed Old Bob out into the small pasture.
"Now I'm too old to do any of this," Old Bob said with a sharp laugh, Jarek tossing his head in agreement. The sight was a strange one that he slowly grew used to over the weeks. Despite the bitter wind, Jared returned the gesture. "We gotta train them to apply pressure to the hooves even when the Ranger gets off. Now this vaulting business is too much for this old body, so you're gonna do it. Ya know that these horses can't be stolen, right? Well, 'is code word is give me the reins. Just say that and there's no problem."
The rumors he heard about the fabled Ranger's horses unable to be stolen always intrigued him. Old Bob confirmed the tales and offered Jared a chance to try it out, but he'd declined. The short, barrel shaped bodies held more muscle and strength than normal people might see; Jared knew enough to judge that the effort would be a losing battle. Leaving Constance in the center with the lead rope tossed over her back, he walked over to the dun stallion. Its ears swiveled and gave a greeting with a whinny- innocent enough.
"Give me the reins," Jared said to it, reminding himself that this was normal on the farm. In his childhood he shared every little insignificant worry with his father's battle horses. Before he left with Old Bob to Redmont fief he'd spoken with his favorite dapple grey, Blizzard. Admittedly, he didn't know much about what a blizzard was. Then again, Jarek sounded to be a foreign name and close to his own, much to Bob's amusement.
Jarek nickered and gave a horse-like bob. Accepting this as a positive response, he saddled the dun with efficient hands and hoisted himself into the seat. A cue from Old Bob sent the horse into a steady walk around the ring. The powerful muscles bunched underneath him and the easy flowing motion placed Jared in another state of awe. Battle horses tended to be jumpy and excited when first mounted, as many other steeds were. After a minute or less they calmed into a smooth gait, but the dun had no such inhibitions.
Old Bob gave a command to the human, a signal to the horse, and Jared slipped his right foot from the stirrup. In a collective motion he vaulted off its back and onto the soft ground. Just two hours ago he had spread fresh sand over the arena. Now he understood its purpose as he watched the dun continue as his pace, feet maintaining the same imprints even with Jared off the saddle. Constance approached from behind and butted him in the back, as if wondering why he was so interested in the stallion and not herself.
Chuckling, Jared scratched her soft nose and led her away to the barn where the saddle and bridle awaited. The special training could wait until he set her through her paces. For now he was in his element again, talking in soft undertones while he buckled and tied the leather tack. When they were in the open he led her around in large circles on a lunge trying to get a feel for her stride, glad to discover that she didn't drag her feet or let her head hang too low.
He applied pressure to her saddle, lifted her feet repeatedly, led her around the farm and showing all the different sights to her. Constance took everything in stride and he had a feeling she already knew this all, but it didn't hurt to repeat the actions. By noon he was dusty and numb, and altogether happy as can be. When he and Old Bob sat down for lunch the man told him the first things the horses needed to be taught- to stand quietly and remain alert at all times, to learn their paces by voice command.
The practice was uncommon, not unheard of and reinforced his belief that Ranger horses were trained somewhat like dogs. For a moment Jared wondered and doubted that he could actually pull such a feat off before he shook away the idea. Thinking of failure would only lead to such. Old Bob gave a hearty laugh at the young boy's inner battle, knowing that with time he would learn. Jared smiled and resolved to take his apprenticeship as it came, one step at a time.
"Bob, what's Constance's code words?" he asked as they cleaned lunch up. The old man chuckled and responded that she didn't have one yet, as no one had ever ridden her so far. Jared was given the decision and he flushed at the importance of it. There was time to think about it since two year olds weren't typically ridden until they reached the end of their year or turned three. Until then he had all the time in the world to reinforce groundwork and leading, to teach the little horse manners good enough to impress the king.
Outside Old Bob continued with a different horse named Storm, a dark grey stallion who loved to rear when not being ridden. As for Jared and Constance, the forest was their destination. Some sights and sounds frightened the mare and he kept her calmed with soft words and pats. They had almost reached one of the small villages in the fief before turning back, the horse intrigued by the people beyond the trees. At least she wasn't scared. Jared found that it was much harder to train out of horses fright than curiosity.
If life were to continue like this, then he would be happy with the place fate had allotted him.
This story is a collaboration between me and my friend horseyfan. Her story, How to Train a Ranger's Horse, was only a test she did when she first came on the site. After the initial chapters she didn't plan on continuing to write it, but I liked the idea and asked if I could take over for her. She said yes, so here I am, and we have already planned the rest of the story out. Her profile can be found underneath my favorite authors.
• Jared is my friend's character, so I don't own him or Old Bob. The horses are my own.
• Yes, it is possible to drink horse milk. The nomadic Mongolians live off of it.
• I have no experiece with training horses, so I'm...winging it, so to say.
• We figured that the herd would need to be pretty big- some breeding stock, already trained ones on standby, etc. just in case something happened. Ranger horses might be incredible, but there's some parts of nature that can't be fought, such as a cliff collapse.
• Hope this was enjoyable!