Disclaimer: I don't remember if I did one of these thing or not yet. In case I didn't here it is: I don't own anything. I don't even own Firefoot. The only original characters so far have been the stable boy and (in this chapter) the farrier. Don't sue.

There is a saying in the horse world; "A good trainer can hear his horse speak, a great trainer can hear his horse whisper. But a bad trainer can't hear his horse at all, no matter how loudly it screams at him."

By those standards, Éomer was somewhat better than bad. Of course, Éomer was better than any of his predecessors, perhaps because he was younger and his mind was slightly more open to strange things like talking horses. Perhaps the others had heard me and it was pushed from their minds without thinking about it, as a person in the city will eventually learn to ignore most sounds without even really hearing them. But either way, I feel obligated to remind the reader (or listener, as the case may be) that if I was a normal horse, not matter how traumatized, they would have been excellent trainers. If I had been raised away from other horses and did not speak horse, they would have been able to put me in with other horses, who would have taught me. But they were treating me like a horse and I wanted to be treated like a human. In hindsight, I can not blame them.

Éomer spent the vast majority of his waking hours, and some of his nights in or near my pen for the next two weeks. He was stubborn, I'll give him that. Just because I hoped to make him understand me, didn't necessarily mean that I liked him, or that I was going to be sweet and mushy about it either. Initially, Éomer really didn't understand that anything was coming from me. Then, when he did understand, he just thought he was reading my body language. I quickly grew very frustrated, as he made no major breakthroughs like the one on the first day.

I treated Éomer almost exactly the same as everybody else. I charged, reared, and screamed out all of my frustration at him. The only exception was that I didn't actually try to hurt him. I pretended to bite, but always missed. I had good aim, still do in fact, and could always chomp down half an inch from flesh. I was getting very annoyed and frustrated with the man, who was not making any noticeable progress on communication. It had only been two weeks, and I couldn't realistically expect much, but still, I have never been very patient.

Anyway, I was very overdue to get my hooves trimmed and Éomer was occupied with something or another that he had been neglecting recently when the farrier, the stable boys, and everyone else who was available showed up at my pen armed with basic farrier tools, strong sedatives, and rope. The routine was a familiar one. I would run around like a maniac, screaming my head off, while simultaneously kicking, charging, biting, and otherwise threatening the lives of the humans. They would either climb the fence or stand in the middle while trying to figure out the best way to get the drugs into me so they could trim my feet. It took longer each time.

After approximately 2 ½ hours of me screaming insults at them, which of course they did not hear, I was beginning to tire. Alright I was fairly exhausted and moving slower than usual. This was probably how somebody managed to get a rope around my neck, which was then secured to a post so it could be gradually shortened until someone got close enough to administer the sedatives.

(B)(B)(B)(B)(B)(B)(B)(B)(B)(B)

Éomer had been so absorbed in his new project that he had been neglecting most of his other duties, including weapons practice. Because he hadn't put in a decent amount of time into his sword or spear work lately, he tried to ignore the feeling of dread coming from the stables all afternoon. After all, it was probably nothing, and neglecting weapons training could get him killed on the battle field some day. But at the end of practice, the feeling increased, and he now recognized fear, hatred, and pain. Without even stopping to change, drink, or take off his sword, he headed to the stables.

What he found was an apparently drugged Firefoot, fighting clumsily against the farrier as he filed off excess hoof growth. Éomer was not sure if the horses was frightened, angry, or both, but despite them small efforts to calm the large animal were unsuccessful. It was obvious that no one wanted to get closer to the horse than absolutely necessary. Éomer was furious.

"Stop, stop, this instant!" he cried, "Could you not let his feet go until more progress had been made? Now we will never get this horse broken!" 1

"My lord," answered the farrier, "I have a very busy schedule, and have to abide by it, unless the horse wants to go another two months on feet that are already overlong and will only become worse."

Éomer sighed, he knew the farrier was right, and he was only doing his job. It was not easy for the farriers and blacksmiths to change horses between them, even if the other one was willing to work with the horse. Éomer was almost certain that this was the only farrier still willing to work on Firefoot. He also knew just how busy the people were as; he had had trouble fitting horses that pulled a shoe in an already busy schedule.

In response to Éomer's query as to which feet had already been trimmed, the man replied that he had just finished the front two when Éomer had arrived. 2 Grateful for the small blessing, he shoed them men away, and assured them that he was sure and was aware that it would be difficult to get the horse drugged enough to finish the job. When they were finally gone, Éomer turned to Firefoot with pity.

"Why to fight men so? You are a smart horse, and though now you have reason to fear men, when came from the field as a three year old you did not have a reason," he asked the horse sadly.

An angry voice sounded in his head I fight men because I hate them. I do not want them near me, and they think me a dumb beast.

Éomer gasped in disbelief. Could it be? No, it could not. Everyone knew that not even the Mearas could speak! "Surely, I am going mad! I could have sworn that you just talked inside my head!"

Human, it is I who is insane. I am actually suffering to have you in here. Despite his aw, Éomer could sense exhaustion, and not a little anger in the horse's voice. Still wondering if perhaps he was going mad, he fetched a pitch fork and cleaned the pen, got the horse fresh hay and water, and went back to the hall to rest and think. Not another word came from the horse, and Éomer was unsure whether to be relived or not.

1 Breaking a horse. This term might need some clarification, as to some people it invokes images of beating a horse until it will let you do anything to it. In reality, 'breaking' really just refers to the process of getting a horse to accept a bridle on its head, a bit in its mouth, and a rider on it back. It is still used today, in things like "green broke," not fully trained, or "dead broke" meaning older well trained babysitter type horse that takes care of its rider and is rarely frazzled. Some people prefer to use the term 'gentle' but I personally find it annoying. Most people are smart enough to know that the vast majority of rides use the term without beating a horse.

2 If you are going to trim a horse, you should always do the front two first, then the back, or the back two first then the front, because it you get interrupted, or have to finish the next day, you won't leave the poor horse with two different feet. Imagine trying to walk around with one foot in flats and the other in platforms.

(a/n) Sorry this took so long. My flash disk has gone missing! And I started this on the downstairs computer, the one I rarely use. BIG mistake. Anyway, I've been a bad author. I wasn't sure if it was okay to tell that little bit from Éomer's point of view or not, but it was easier. If you all don't like it let me know and I won't do it again. If you REALLY don't like it I'll think about rewriting it so that it's all from Firefoot's POV.