To the east, the sun was rising slowly, shyly guiding the moon out of the domains of the day and tainting the sky with its light, blue and yellow mixing to give the earth a speck of warmth. The birds started their song to awaken the rest of the prairie.
Martín hummed as the wind whistled, basking in the vastness, in the impotence this sight provided him, freedom was a cruel illusion, he could go whenever he wanted, except for the one place his heart ached for, conquering wilderness was such a tempting dream, but all he wanted now was the comfort of his home.
The constant galloping of the horse with a metallic tingling accompanied the feathered singers with a beat. The morning coldness bit on his skin mercilessly but Martín tried not to pay heed to it, the cold is a constant nowadays. He ran a hand through the stallion's fur, it was soft, a beautiful shade of brown. There's a couple of things he considers vital, the mounting, the spurs, a fearless temper; horses, though amiable, were replaceable.
The animal halted and Martin chuckled, patting the horse to reassure it, practicity though necessary in a hostile environment was sometimes outweighed by sentimentalism. A moody horse was challenging, but nothing he couldn't handle.
He stole a glance at his forbidden land, a small ranch with green pastures that moved as the wind caressed them incessantly. For Martín, the emotion of a wandering life had withered long ago with the prospect of a property.
A ranch provided safety, a decent income to keep himself out of poverty and a place to rest when the weather was mercilessly rainy or cold. It was just as much as what he had been born with, but an incessant itch nagged at the back of his head.
One couldn't fear loss if one didn't grow attached to anything or anyone. Martín had mastered the arts of independence, relying solely on his hard work, spending generously his money -as he should- and engaging in another work when he was penniless, that's the life he had greatly enjoyed until his heart ached for a place to call home.
Home. The project had haunted him for a year, his mind searching for a speck of fondness, for a trace of kindness that he could grasp and squeeze out in his remaining days.
After the dismal realization that he had nowhere to go, Martín had set his mind into the next town he visited, unluckily finding what he was looking for. Inside the ranch of a cranky oldman, a treasure was hidden in plain sight.
Martín despised his days in that place, letting someone treat him as if he owned him for a scarce payment was something he thought he'd left behind, but his smitten pride was soothed by a young man with dark brown eyes, a stubbornness only he could outmatch, and the kindest heart he'd ever known.
Martín's life changed drastically, Luciano taught him to appreciate the moments of calmness, the voice in his head telling him to go away became smaller, briefly silenced by their own whispers in those cold nights when they shared a warm embrace. They talked about their past, struggles and fears, and when they were feeling bolder, they talked about the future, of building their own home, where they could spend their days, a cattle, a nice house, a decent parcel so they wouldn't have to rely on others to feed themselves.
That dream was all he needed, for a while, greediness had always been his greatest flaw, but this time, he was right in wishing for more, not for him but for Luciano. A dream couldn't shelter them for long, it was time to materialize the fantasy.
The voice urging him to ride away regained strength, whispering the bitter truths he had been ignoring. He only had to leave for a while, gather enough money to buy that old ranch and from then on, the future was theirs to do.
Time advanced unmercifully, withering his hope and hurting his pride, Martín refused to come back empty handed. Desperation attracted the vultures with their whispers and gossips about a cursed treasure and though skeptical, Martín's heart ached for the tales to hold some truth.
His thoughts were interrupted by Cecilia, the youngest of the cattle, long eyelashes, defined patches and a fluffy tail ensuring the sympathy of her companions. Martín frowned at the animals, so carefree in the land he could not set afoot.
The rumbling of leaves made him turn back, in the distance a light brown stallion galloped, circling and skipping as if it were a mere foal. The sight set ablaze the inside of his chest, a surge of excitement going through his body as he tightened his hold on the reins.
His horse bolted straight into the pack of animals, sending them into a frenzy of wails and almost running over one of the scared cows, Martín chuckled at the display of eagerness, apparently he wasn't the only one longing for a chase.
Adrenaline pumped on his body and the wild horse started to run, giving a sudden turn to the right when a black hound appeared seemingly out of nowhere, barking and following its trail. It was rare, it could pass as a fairly wild dog but the way it ran resembled a fox with how its head lined down to gain speed.
The chase made Martin's heart flutter, his hand hovering on his belt, it's been so long since he last used the boleadoras*, but his movements came naturally, muscle memory really is a blessing, his shoulder ached a bit as he swung the artifact, his body tensed, one hand firm on the reins while the other moved swiftly gaining enough momentum and letting go of one of the ends.
A deathly aim if it had been targeted at a smaller beast, but the tool swirls around the horse's legs, tying them and making it trip, wincing defenseless as it can't escape from its bounds.
His horse slows down its pace and Martín takes a glance at the laying animal, he approaches the foal, waiting for a sign of distrust but it just lays defeated with gentle black eyes that stared at him incessantly.
The dog with disheveled wet fur and a red ribbon tied to its neck resumes its barking, the sounds making the horse writhe on the ground as he tries to fasten a rope on its snout, but the horse turns away from his touch as if encouraged by the noisy hound to struggle against his attempts.
Martín tries to shoo the dog away tugging lightly on the ribbon, only succeeding in ripping it, the hound replaces the barking with a growl. A metallic tingling betrays the approaching steps, and Martín holds his breath, his hand grasping on the soft fabric as he steps away from the dog and focuses on the foal.
"Hey, I swear that dog means no trouble," a familiar voice says, letting out a nervous chuckle. "and neither do I."
"So, it's yours," Martín says, untying the horse and freeing its fetlocks, the animal regains its will to run away, almost stepping over him but a firm tug on the rope kept it in place. He turns back to see a blond man drenched in mud, Martin lets out a chuckle at the sight, Alfred's disheveled state is pitiful, the man with the golden promises has finally reached rock bottom.
"Something like that." Alfred says, his eyes traveling down to his hands as if looking for something. "Where exactly are we?"
A stupid question from a strange man, Martín pats the dog on the head, the animal wagging its tail and following his steps. A smile grows on his face as he asks. "What are you doing here? I thought your fortune would have you living as a king and not as a beggar."
"I gave you a fair share, where's your dreamed hacienda?" Alfred says, taking a glance at his surroundings and shrugging. "I'm lost. I could use some help or less cryptic words. Where 's the north?"
Martín squints his eyes at him, pondering on his options. He could play the good samaritan or ignore Alfred's questioning, either way there's not much of a change for him.
Change… he turns to the stubborn foal, running a hand on its mane. A small smile makes its way to his face.
"That way," He replies motioning with his head, his chest aching as he mutters. "You can take my horse and head over the town, they'll make sure to welcome you."
"I can't believe you wasted your gold on a horse," Alfred chuckled, shifting on his feet before approaching the animal slowly, sparing him a glance. "You know, I only need one more soul to pay my debt."
"Do you want to take mine?" Martín chuckled, motioning at the animal, "Let's see who's better at horse riding."
"That'd be a waste of time," Alfred huffed, mounting the horse. "As far as I know you don't have a soul."
"Perhaps I don't," Martín hummed, glancing at the black dog, half expecting it to turn into an ominous beast, but in plain daylight, it's just as harmless as its owner. "but in that case neither do you."
After a couple of quick directions, Alfred leaves, a friendly smile on his face and a wave as a farewell that Martín answers with a nod of acknowledgement. Alfred… it seems like the devil finally got this one after the millionth attempt, luck is not enough to run away from death.
The red ribbon on his hand is warm and Martín braids it on the foal's mane. A gaucho** without a horse posses an odd situation, perhaps fate had granted him this exchange, a wild foal for the horse acquired with that cursed gold. The barter had lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders or perhaps it was the chase. Martin hoped for another foal tomorrow, he thrived for it, the chase, the taming, all that's deemed as hard work, yet, it's deliciously refreshing, crops and cows make his mind sink into a fit of despair as it is both painfully close yet unreachable.
It's always the same.
He looks around, the ranch is no longer visible from where he stands, instead a vast emptiness greets him, the flatness of the pastures and the loneliness of it insult him.
The sight hits him in the gut, nostalgia settling on his heart. Boredom and routine chain him to the prairie, a place as familiar as a counterfeit can be, what used to be soothing has become tiring, anyone would go insane if the birds sang the same tune at the same hour each day, if the trees' leaves fell in the same spot.
This is not his home, there would be something, someone, breaking the illusion of emptiness, reminding him of the vibrant colors of nature, the soil, the sky, the animals, they should spark vitality but all he sees -all he feels- is a dull copy of what it should be, of what it was.
Luciano wasn't there when he returned, or perhaps, he didn't return at all. The ranch is always empty, there's no one tending to the animals, no light coming from it at night.
The more he thinks about it, the more his heart urges him to abandon everything, and forget about this ranch but he can't. The further he goes, the stronger his heart aches. His soul is anchored in this place, keeping him from going forward, from calling Alfred back and offering to go with him.
It 's futile. His mind urges, screams at him to try one more time, to approach that place as much as he can. With hesitant steps Martín reaches his usual stop, the cattle remains the same and his heart threatens with bursting out of his ribcage as he goes past the fence, fastening the foil to it as the animal neighs at him. He doesn't dare to lay his eyes on the ranch, fidgeting with the rope.
"Took you long enough to come back," the voice sent a shiver down Martín's spine, his legs can barely hold his weight. "I can't believe you only brought one scrawny horse."
He turns back and his chest aches, Luciano is sitting right before the entrance, a soft smile on his face as he ushers him to join him.
Taking a seat beside him, Martín ponders on what he should say, apologies are not enough when even himself has lost count of how much time passed, but Luciano seemed unfazed, welcoming him as if only hours or minutes had passed, enveloping him in his arms and sharing his warmth.
"I've missed you," Martín said, letting out a breath and breaking the embrace to place a kiss on Luciano's forehead, fearing that if he was too harsh Luciano would disappear before his eyes.
The rest of the day is a blur, and when the night comes an overwhelming tiredness roots itself into his being. Martín's soul is finally at ease, a ranch, a cattle and a scrawny horse, he didn't need any more, didn't wish for anything else because Luciano was there.
He's finally at home and he never wanted to leave again.
A/N: *Boleadoras or bolas are a tool used by the gauchos to hunt, they consist of three leather-bound rocks tied together with leather straps.
** A Gaucho is a skilled itinerant horseman, depicted as brave, unruly and adept in cattle work, broadly speaking they can be considered the equivalent of a cowboy in South America, specifically in Argentina, Uruguay and some parts of Brazil. The gaucho is also known as a symbolic nationalist figure in Argentina, present in literature such as the epic poem "Martín Fierro" and the novel "Don Segundo Sombra"
This was written for Wild Westalia Week 2022
The prompt was ranch.