Prologue
South Texas, 1887
He didn't remember much of his human life. Fragments of the war surfaced in his mind occasionally, but they became less frequent over the years.
He barely remembered his Ma's face, or the hazy recollections of his younger sister's hair and favorite dress. Her golden curls resembled his.
His Pa was nothing but a monotonous background figure.
One thing he remembered vividly was the horses. His family bred horses. Training and handling of them became one of his many duties on the farm.
He applied the steps of raising and breaking in foals to newborns, and for the last twenty years he has had favorable results.
He quickly disposed of the few that did not comply. Disobedience quickly resulted in a smoldering pile of ashes in the middle of camp. Those who resisted were made an example of, usually by his hand.
His play-by-play efficient, or it was until Maria had dropped her outside of his tent one day with a smirk and a rare glimmer of amusement in her eyes.
The filly she left him with was breathing heavily through its mouth, making loud, quick huffs. She emanated pure rage, shaking with it. She clawed the ground around her, turning soil.
The vibrant ruby eyes that honed in on him screamed of resistance. He almost snorted at the small girl's attempt at intimidation.
The shimmering of additional crescent shaped scars caught his attention. She had acquired three more bite marks along her arm, already being punished for disobedience. He wondered whose charge she was before his. Clearly they got fed up with her quickly, as she was now his problem.
He took two steps forward before snarling erupted from her. She resembled a feral animal, lips pulled back and white teeth glimmering with venom, her hair matted and her body caked in dirt and blood. What looks to be the remains of a dress remained in tatters on her body.
The little filly bared her teeth, snapping at him from her place on the ground.
He felt a growl building and reverberating in his own chest as the filly continued to stare up at him, trying to challenge him.
In a quick motion he wasn't expecting, she brought her arms up, pelting him with the soil she had been digging up.
She was pinned in less than a second, on her stomach and an arm tangled in her ratty hair, forcing her face in the dirt.
He had dealt with difficult newborns before.
More agitation spread through him as he felt her start to buck and try to struggle out of his hold.
Sending out a copious amount of calm and lethargy, he felt her still under him.
Time to start from the beginning.
Step One: Training Begins Immediately.
'The foals training begins on the day he is born, not at some arbitrary date in the future.'
a/n. so I haven't written much at all in my life, just little tidbits, and I certainly haven't written much in the last few years. but I was at a cute little bookstore the other day and found this book about training new foals. it gave me angsty ideas of Jasper trying to process and force a newborn Bella through the system hes developed.
Hopefully I'll get back to this soon :) have a good day 3