**A/N: This is a tribute fic for Jaxie, who was kicked by an Arabian
gelding as she was caring for her horse. This story is in no way intended
to be disrespectful to anyone!**
He clapped his hands together, sliding his palms as if to shake off dust. He could barely conceal a satisfied smile as he sauntered away; he knew that among all of his minor acts of heroism, this had to be his favorite.
He'd been minding his own business, working hard in his chosen field, when out of nowhere his sensitive ears picked up the voice of a child, trembling slightly with fear. He put on his best speed, racing across that field, finally reaching the source of the sound--a beautiful young girl, perhaps eleven years old, with pale gold hair and round cheeks. She was backed up against a fence by a man with an inexplicably long face, large nose, and knobby limbs; with his thin brown hair and the diamond-shaped scar on his forehead, he looked like nothing so much as a horse. The man was towering over the girl, obviously terrorizing her, and our hero didn't hesitate to step in. He was none too quick, for just as he arrived on the scene, the horse-man growled and struck out a foot; our hero caught the glint of sunlight on metal, and realized that the bottom of the boot was lined with steel.
The girl cried out thinly and moved so that the angle of the kick would not end at her chest; her movement confused the horse-man and gave our hero the opening he needed to move in (and fortunately for the girl, he took the opening.) His hand flashed out faster than the eye could track, and he caught the ankle of the horse-man and pulled, so that the man quite suddenly found himself doing the splits on the ground (with excellent form, I might add.) Our hero told the girl to run, and run she did, straight toward the nearest inhabited building likely to have a phone.
Meanwhile, our hero stood over the downed horse-man. He glared down, looking every inch heroic with his arms folded across his chest and his feet planted firmly; his eyes narrowed as if to look into the horse-man's innermost mind, and he snarled to him to start talking. Quivering in abject terror at the man who stood before him larger than life, the bully gave his name--A. Rab Geld--and admitted that he was terrorizing the girl (whom the hero remembered as Skippi Jaxon) because she'd been eating carrots and wouldn't give him any. Touched with compassion for a hungry man and yet still driven by truth and justice, our hero pulled the man up easily by the back of his collar and marched him to the police station, ordering that horse-man be fed while he waited for legal representation.
Justice having been served, the truth having been found, and all parties having been secured, our hero smiled to himself and headed for home, enjoying the wind in his hair as he broke into a run and reached his abode in record time. He was young, he was strong, he found fulfillment in serving the needs of others, and he'd gained the admiration of a sweet little girl who turned out to be a princess of old Irish royalty; our hero was soon granted the highest honor of anyone around her--he was permitted to call her Jax.
And best of all, his sweet little boy, who'd fallen from the sky into his arms, wanted to be just like him.
He clapped his hands together, sliding his palms as if to shake off dust. He could barely conceal a satisfied smile as he sauntered away; he knew that among all of his minor acts of heroism, this had to be his favorite.
He'd been minding his own business, working hard in his chosen field, when out of nowhere his sensitive ears picked up the voice of a child, trembling slightly with fear. He put on his best speed, racing across that field, finally reaching the source of the sound--a beautiful young girl, perhaps eleven years old, with pale gold hair and round cheeks. She was backed up against a fence by a man with an inexplicably long face, large nose, and knobby limbs; with his thin brown hair and the diamond-shaped scar on his forehead, he looked like nothing so much as a horse. The man was towering over the girl, obviously terrorizing her, and our hero didn't hesitate to step in. He was none too quick, for just as he arrived on the scene, the horse-man growled and struck out a foot; our hero caught the glint of sunlight on metal, and realized that the bottom of the boot was lined with steel.
The girl cried out thinly and moved so that the angle of the kick would not end at her chest; her movement confused the horse-man and gave our hero the opening he needed to move in (and fortunately for the girl, he took the opening.) His hand flashed out faster than the eye could track, and he caught the ankle of the horse-man and pulled, so that the man quite suddenly found himself doing the splits on the ground (with excellent form, I might add.) Our hero told the girl to run, and run she did, straight toward the nearest inhabited building likely to have a phone.
Meanwhile, our hero stood over the downed horse-man. He glared down, looking every inch heroic with his arms folded across his chest and his feet planted firmly; his eyes narrowed as if to look into the horse-man's innermost mind, and he snarled to him to start talking. Quivering in abject terror at the man who stood before him larger than life, the bully gave his name--A. Rab Geld--and admitted that he was terrorizing the girl (whom the hero remembered as Skippi Jaxon) because she'd been eating carrots and wouldn't give him any. Touched with compassion for a hungry man and yet still driven by truth and justice, our hero pulled the man up easily by the back of his collar and marched him to the police station, ordering that horse-man be fed while he waited for legal representation.
Justice having been served, the truth having been found, and all parties having been secured, our hero smiled to himself and headed for home, enjoying the wind in his hair as he broke into a run and reached his abode in record time. He was young, he was strong, he found fulfillment in serving the needs of others, and he'd gained the admiration of a sweet little girl who turned out to be a princess of old Irish royalty; our hero was soon granted the highest honor of anyone around her--he was permitted to call her Jax.
And best of all, his sweet little boy, who'd fallen from the sky into his arms, wanted to be just like him.