The ramp to the stage led up.
César knew this, because unless he was being led outside, which was through the stable and out the back, he was being led onstage. He liked this, because he liked the lights and the noise, so different from the stable below where only the whickering of the other horses, though none so grand as himself, kept him company.
He liked quiet, too. The man in black who came by to feed him sweets sometimes was quiet. He was gentle and even though César didn't know what he was saying the man talked to him and he understood. So he was surprised, but not alarmed, when the man led him from his stall and softly guided him away from the path César knew so well.
The horse followed willingly, nosing at the black cloak in front of him in search of sweets, but the man brushed him away, preoccupied. This was expected of the others, but not the quiet man. He was always attentive. César shook his head in protest, and the man turned to him, rubbed him behind the ears, and produced an apple.
After a few minutes, the man stopped at the bottom of a flight of stairs. He whispered something to César, who understood that he was to remain there. The man left.
César disliked waiting. He wanted to be on stage, with the people, with the sounds, the oats waiting on the other side. He shifted his feet impatiently. But he'd been well-trained, and wasn't going to disgrace himself now.
When the man returned there was a lady with him. She seemed quiet too, but frightened. This bothered César, who snorted a few times before he let the man settle the lady on his back. Her weight kept shifting and César shook his head again at the indignity of being made to carry one with less schooling than himself. She kept trying to fall off, so the man swung up behind her and César stilled with the feeling of capable legs guiding him, even as he disliked the extra weight.
They began to walk, the sound of hooves muffled by the sounds of a lively opera company after a performance. César looked about with veiled interest, but saw neither grass nor manger. There were shapes around them in the dark that might have been frightening, had he not been brought up in the Opera. Large frames and flats, statues and props littered their path. There was some shifting behind him, but he was as incapable of seeing what was happening on his back as he was of interpreting the lady's expression when she'd looked at the man in black.
When the lake appeared before them, César stopped, uncertain. The water looked strange in the dim light, black and depthless. The man descended gracefully and lifted the lady, as César stumbled forward to examine the water. It smelled like water. He heard splashing and looked up to see the man and the lady in a boat, moving quickly away from him. He lowered his head and drank. When he lifted it again, water dripping from the white hairs of his muzzle to merge back into the silent lake, they were gone.
César turned and found the ramp which led up.