Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to JK Rowling and the nice folk at Warner.

Author Notes and Warnings – PLEASE READ (because some people are still not reading my warnings – for example, how many times do I have to tell people this story is one giant shooting-off-at-tangents ramble? You should be reading something else if you want a conveniently simple plot, certainly not this chapter, which has very little to do with plot development and was written simply for the heck of it):
1. Grammar freaks beware – the tenses are completely haywire. This chapter will be confusing enough, what with converting Horse into Human, without worrying about your red pen overheating. Feel free to skip this chapter and go reread your copy of Eats Shoots and Leaves (ironically enough I can't remember if there was meant to be a comma in there).
2. This chapter is written from the PoV of a horse. Not accurately, no, as I believe a real equine PoV would go along the lines of: "nothing nothing nothing react nothing nothing react react nothing yummy yum nothing nothing," which would be very boring. Horses are also very easy to distract, so the chapter will (or should) be jumpy in places.
3. I haven't had this much fun writing a chapter since the Republic of Slytherin was formed. Unfortunately it's still not right after three months work… but I had to post it at some stage, so here it is.
4. Before anyone writes to tell me Simon is OOC because he's so taken with himself, in my experience horses are capable of vanity. Simon has had Luna telling him he's wonderful for nearly two months. Don't expect humility. Not from the self-styled Resident Stallion. Read this chapter more closely if you want to get his state of mind and self-worth as of two months ago.
5. There are some naughty words in this chapter. Two or three. Eek.

And now… (drum roll)

"Ugga bugga! Eat apples! Enjoy this chapter!"

ooOOoo

Chapter 65: Simon Says

There are three monkeyhorses coming up the hill. The Horse knows them. He doesn't like them. He doesn't dislike them. He merely knows them, their looks, their smells, their postures. They are not a threat, although something twitches, connecting them to a Fright not in the Now.

They come into the paddock, making noises at each other. "Uggabugga ugga bugga." The Horse puts his head up. This is Not Usual. When they come walking up towards him, The Horse begins to turn away. They stop. The Horse stops when it doesn't look like he has to keep going away from them to keep a comfortable distance.

One is holding out half an apple. He can smell it as well as see it.

Horses have a brain the size of a fist. A horse's stomach isn't big either, not comparatively speaking considering the size of the animal, but it carries the casting vote in most non-predator, non-sex, non-hierarchy situations. The brain doesn't usually have a chance when stacked up against the stomach.

The Horse isn't stupid, not as horses go, and these three smell like trouble. They stand like colts looking for trouble. They know they are being naughty… their dams are probably looking for them now, wanting to nip them for being foolish. Letting them near is trouble. The Horse does not doubt this.

But they have half an apple. Half an apple is half an apple is half an apple… and half an apple is very hard to argue with.

Absence of dunderhead colts or half an apple?

Hmm.

Greed wins.

Half an apple is compensation for putting up with their presence. The Horse can be generous. He swishes his tail as he ambles down to get his half an apple.

Something goes click under his chin. A leadrope. It means he has to obey them. To an extent, anyway. But only if they keep up their side of the Rules. The Horse puts that aside as he snags the half an apple (nearly taking off a squealing monkeycolt's fingers, but then it is a stupid monkeycolt if it keeps its fingers between half an apple and The Horse's teeth) and enjoys all the bliss half an apple holds.

The sugar is fading on his tongue (along with the bliss) and he is beginning to wonder grumpily where the next half an apple is, when he realises the monkeycolts are communicating in their clumsy, noisy fashion. The whinnies would be incomprehensible but body language and smell and pitch of the voice tell The Horse a great deal. More than he wishes, perhaps.

"Ugga bugga. I am nervous."

"Ugga bugga? Ugga? Me too."

"Ugga. I am nervous and trying to hide it behind a façade of posture and bullying tone. Look – I have stuff with me that is made from dead cow and smells like that really weird soap and The Horse."

Oh, they've found the stuff that makes his head and back itch. Damn. The Horse wants more apples and for the monkeycolts to go away. He most certainly doesn't want them sitting on his back.

The Horse suffers patiently as they try to put the headstuff on first. They don't have a clue. They are meant to put the backthing on first, not the headstuff.

Initially they try to put the headstuff over his ears instead of putting the metal thing into his mouth first. Then they shove the cold metal thing in his mouth, banging his teeth. The Horse shakes his head. Their first Warning. The headstuff drops to the ground as argument commences.

"Uggabugga. I don't know what I'm doing and I'm a total incompetent."

"Uggabugga. I think I know what I'm doing but I don't really and I'm a whiney little shit."

"Ugga. I'm frightened of The Horse and I'm getting stinky because of it."

"Uggabugga! I'm a total incompetent but I think I'm in charge here, and I'm about to get a really nasty shock from The Horse as soon as I go too far."

Stinky, Total Incompetent and Whiney Little Shit unbuckle one side of the headstuff and put the cold hard thing into his mouth again – sideways, this time. Also back to front, because they've twisted the strap on the other side. It is already digging into The Horse's cheek. They buckle the strap up again. It is too tight now. The corners of his mouth, which should only wrinkle a little, are now pulled higher.

The Horse's patience is wearing thin after only two minutes.

They lift the backthing up and put it on – backwards.

The Horse decides to be patient. These three are obviously insane. He wonders if he should put up with them or cull them for the good of the herd.

Total Incompetent waves his forelegs. "Ugga bugga ugga! I am right you two are wrong and I think I can ignore what The Horse thinks. Do this! Do that! Obey me! I claim I am the leader!"

Whiney Little Shit whines. Stinky takes the backthing off and puts it on again – right way around this time, to The Horse's relief.

Relief is short lived. They push the backthing, which is placed too far towards his tail, up towards The Horse's head, rucking up the hair underneath.

Rucked up isn't the half of it…

The Horse is getting very, very annoyed. Culling is beginning to look good.

The bellything goes underneath and Stinky buckles it up. The Horse breathes in as he does, inflating his ribs like a balloon. The strap under his belly is nice and loose. They don't notice, of course.

Heh, heh.

He breathes out as Total Incompetent tries to get on his back.

The backthing becomes a bellything. Total Incompetent is hanging under The Horse now.

The Horse smirks.

"Ugga bugga! It's your fault! I am getting very angry because The Horse makes me look like the idiot I don't want to admit to being!"

"Ugga ugga ugga ugga ugga ugga! Whine whinge moan it's Stinky's fault! I am a good monkeycolt! Don't bite me! I don't want you to remember me laughing! Whinge fawn moan submissive stance!"

"Ugga bugga mumble ugga… I hate you both and wish I am somewhere else eating grass. I smell really bad and I eat too much meat. I am a very lowly member of the herd and I think if I participate in stupid stunts like what we're up to now I have higher status."

"Ugga bugga growl. Do it right or I bite you and drive you out of the herd." Total Incompetent drops to the ground and crawls to his feet. "Ugga bugga. I am standing in a dominant way. I want to bite The Horse."

If any biting is to be done, The Horse will do it. He swishes his tail and arches his neck just enough to warn Total Incompetent who is Resident Stallion.

The breathing-in trick doesn't work a second time. Someone jabs The Horse in the ribs and he breathes out. The belly-thing is too tight to slip. Now Total Incompetent sits on The Horse's back like a sack of potatoes, or like The Horse's Palomino Colt or The Horse's Black Colt the first times they sit on The Horse. The Horse likes those colts despite their embarrassingly blatant youthful idiocy. They bring him peppermints. They should be here now. They are not. It is very bad of them. If they were here he would bite them for not being here.

He doesn't like Total Incompetent. He wants to bite him but it's hard with Stinky holding the leadrope. Maybe he should bite Stinky instead. No – Stinky really is very stinky. He smells almost as bad as That Damned Dog.

The Horse seethes.

Total Incompetent picks up the reins, putting pressure on The Horse's mouth. The hard thing (still too high in the mouth) bangs against teeth and sensitive gums.

"Ugga bugga? What do I do now?"

"Ugga bugga bugga ugga ugga bug bug ugga bugga. Long-winded whiney explanation even though I don't know what I'm doing either. Look at me wave this book with diagrams. Listen to me try to increase my status by coming up with piss-poor plans. I tell you what to do. Whine whine whinge whine."

"Ugga bugga ugga bugga. I wish I am not here we're getting into so much trouble because we are bad and acting very suspiciously," mutters Stinky.

"Ugga bugga. Ugga. I am in charge. I am the boss of The Horse. I think I am, anyway. Do this, Stinky, do that, Whiney Little Shit."

Whiney Little Shit runs to open the gate. Stinky (why does it have to be him right by my nostrils? thinks The Horse) takes up the leadrope and tugs.

"Uggabugga Simon. Good uggabugga. Please do as I ask and don't hurt me, The Horse."

Stinky keeps the leadrope tight even while The Horse follows. Doesn't he know The Horse is a good horse and will follow without having someone dragging on his head? It is an insult!

The Horse is still pondering how he should reply to this insult when they reach the open gate, and he is distracted by this new conundrum.

Oh. They want him to go through it.

Wait a minute. The Horse is not allowed to go through it unless he's with one of The Horse's Dim But Important Colts or The Horse's Palomino Filly Who Knows What She's Doing. Going through the gate without them is Against the Rules. The Horse believes with all his heart in The Rules. The Rules are the heart of being the Herd Stallion. Without The Rules, the world falls down and The Horse feels powerless and afraid and angry and lowly in status, and werewolves run amuck devouring foals while evil monkeyhorses hold out sugar to trap angry frightened stallions…

The Horse obeys The Rules and makes sure youngstock learn to do so, too. He doesn't want them trapped like he is-in-the-past.

Maybe it's time to teach these three monkeycolts some Rules?

Stinky tugs on the leadrope. When The Horse stands his ground, he says: "Ugga bugga? The Horse is not doing what I want. What do I do now?"

"Uggabugga. Ugga bugga ugga ug bugga ga ugga bugga. I don't know, whine moan, but I try something probably really really stupid. Wait here." There goes Whiney Little Shit, down the hill into the trees. The Horse watches him, wondering if he will be eaten by a monster but somehow failing to particularly care. Hmm. Is this a failing as Resident Stallion? It is forgotten the next second as he is distracted with:

"Ugga bugga I wish I am somewhere else. It's lucky I'm too weak and smelly to win a monkeymare because I'm such a pathetically sad specimen it is a tragedy for the world if I breed."

"Ugga bugga. Shut up. I am getting nervous and my brain might actually be beginning to work, telling me my plan, which may be unknown by The Horse but is undoubtedly inspired by a rabid stoat, should have been thought out better. My hind legs are very stiff and my toes point down, putting my balance off. If I know anything about sitting on The Horse I would be more aware of how I sit because The Horse could get rid of me very very easily just by moving sideways."

The Horse weighs this up. He is about to move to the side – that butterfly looks very fearsome, not to mention those three alarming stalks of grass, and is the perfect excuse to move sideways very fast – but then he is distracted again.

The Horse lifts his head and wrinkles his nostrils. Whiney Little Shit is coming back up the hill. He has a stick in his hand. It's big and heavy, not one of the evil little pointy Hurt Sticks, but The Horse shifts uneasily at the sight.

Total Incompetent squawks at Stinky. Stinky clutches at the leadrope, trying to pull The Horse's head down.

Whiney Little Shit makes a long speech. It begs a response from their leader (well, the leader they think they have as they are too daft to recognise the universal truth that the only leader around here is The Horse).

Total Incompetent sits up straighter. "Ugga bugga ugga bugga ugga ugga ug bug bugga bugga ug ugga ugga ugga bugga ug bugga bug ugga ugga Simon ugga bugga Simon ugga ugga bugga bug ug ug ug bugga ugga bugga ugga bugga ug ugga ug ugga ugga bugga ug ug ug ug bugga ug ug bugga ug ga. Yes," says Total Incompetent, who seems to be feeling full of himself now he is up high and The Horse is not moving about. While The Horse can't make forelocks or tails out of what the daft monkeycolt actually said, he's mentioned The Horse in there, which is sinister.

The Horse begins a philosophical consideration of status and the way monkeyhorses act like they feel like they've gained it as soon as they plant their scrawny backsides on his handsome back, not realising they are only allowed there by the grace and goodwill of The Horse. The Horse is a – The Horse is derailed in this latest train of thought by Whiney Little Shit handing the branch to Total Incompetent.

"Ugga bugga, Simon. I want you to go through the gate you are not allowed to go through and I am mentally deficient enough to think you obey me," says Total Incompetent.

"Good ugga, ug ugga. I am sucking up to you, O Mighty The Horse, trying to entreat you to grant our request. If I pull the rope really hard maybe you obey me."

The Horse is not inclined to grant Stinky anything other than a nip for yanking on the leadrope like that.

"Ugga bugga! Bad Simon! UGGA UGGA UGGA! Ouch that really hurts! Bad The Horse! And now he's standing on my foot! get the evil bastard off my foot!" Stinky howls.

The Horse, eventually and with what he considers great magnanimity, condescends to allow Whiney Little Shit to push him off Stinky's foot.

"Ugga ugga. I am getting impatient and am about to do something so stupid it will go down in history," shouts Total Incompetent. He lifts the stick. The stick comes down.

WHACK!

The stick breaks with the force. Pain hits, but is immediately swept away by the vast tsunami of The Horse's anger at this… this… monumental indignity against his person.

For a bare second, The Horse's four hooves are glued to the ground by sheer outrage.

The second ends.

Total Incompetent hangs on to the backthing as The Horse whirls around. One toss of The Horse's head flings Stinky several metres away.

Then The Horse goes up like Vesuvius.

One leap, one back-arched, four-straight-legs vertical bound, and Total Incompetent shoots up into the air, squealing like a piglet.

He comes down. By sheer bad luck he lands, still squealing, on The Horse's back.

The Horse is almost frothing at the mouth with rage: he cannot believe Total Incompetent's continuing insolence. Does he think he can mock The Horse? The sheer cheek of him!

This time The Horse performs a full head-down-between-the-knees, hind feet to the sky buck, sticking in his speciality – a nasty little corkscrew twist that would even get rid of The Horse's Palomino Filly, competent though she is.

Total Incompetent finally gets one thing right: he flies away and lands in the grass with a bone-shaking thump. Shame – The Horse aims him at some gorse.

"Squeal! Squeal! Squeal! Help help help!" shouts Whiney Little Shit.

Ah. The one who brings the stick. The Horse's ribs ache down one side. It is Whiney Little Shit's idea to try beating The Horse, is it?

The Horse lowers his head, bares his teeth, and charges.

Screaming and smelling of fear-sweat, Whiney Little Shit streaks through the gate. Running down the hill, away towards the castle, still screaming like a little filly with a wolf on her tail.

The Horse cannot follow. There are invisible Things on the fence; even when the gate is open, the things remain hanging in the air, the flutter of them against his whiskers telling him the Boundary Rules. Still hopping mad, he wheels in search of a new target. Ah-ha! There is Stinky, picking himself up.

The Horse kicks him. Harder than he should, but The Horse is in a vindictive mood and wants to make this obvious.

There is a cracking sound and squealing. Stinky squeals in short bursts rather than a long high-pitched howl like Total Incompetent. Bones are cracked. Oops, maybe that kick is a bit harder than The Horse intends. But it isn't anything fatal – The Horse isn't quite ready to kill a colt yet.

But then again…

Over near the gorse, Total Incompetent is staggering up to his feet. And he has a small pointy stick in his hand.

The Horse knows what that means in the hands of an enemy. It means pain. It means fear. It means death.

Chaotic images of running lost through a dark forest punctuated with bursts of pain and threats of death tremble at the edge of memory. The Horse's heart is racing now as his body shakes with the shadowy horrors that creep out in his nightmares. The Horse is frightened. There is only one thing to do in a situation like this.

The Horse attacks.

"Ugg-"

The uggabugga is never finished. The Horse snaps at the stick.

Sparks fly. A terrible taste – bitter despair and sour jealousy, stale-biscuit of mares stolen by another stallion, mildewed hay loneliness and bone-deep-familiar fermented oats of waiting for punishment to strike, the dry-tongued nightmares he gets of fighting monsters in the night forest, the old snow horror of foals being eaten by wolves – all this fills his mouth at once.

The Horse spits out the broken stick and shakes his head in an effort to rid his mouth of the vileness. That taste has only darkened his mood, turning it murderous.

He swishes his tail as he prowls around the cringing monkeycolt, checking to make sure there are no more traps.

"Uggabugga ugga ugga bugga Simon good ugga ugga good ugga Simon… I am very very frightened and I stink of fear and I am hoping I am not going to die even though I deserve to for frightening The Horse Onceuponatime and causing the hurt of The Horse's Palomino Filly Who Knows What She's Doing…"

Ah-ha! The Horse has known him in the not-now. It has taken this long for his memory to be jogged. The memory is involved with frightening him and making The Horse's Palomino Filly damaged. The taste of the broken stick lingers in his mouth. It is like flies that won't go away. It is the throbbing ache in his side. It is the smell of monsters that come in the night or creep into stables to try to kill and eat The Horse and the Palomino Colt.

And the stick is brought by this monkeycolt…

The Horse arches his neck and glares down his long nose at the monkeycolt quivering at his feet. The monster in the night looks-in-the-past a little like that as it cowers from The Horse, and the taste in The Horse's mouth… the taste… the taste overrides smell which is telling him this is a monkeycolt and thus must not be killed…

The Horse blinks.

Something goes click in The Horse's brain and the monkeycolt becomes the Monster In The Night. Total Incompetent stops being a naughty monkeycolt and becomes A Threat. There, at The Horse's feet, lies The Monster In The Night.

The Horse knows how to deal with threats like Monsters In The Night.

He kills them.

He rears.

"Uggabugga!"

Instinct makes him jerk his head back. Yellow light streaks past The Horse's nose. Rearing higher, he turns his head.

IT IS THE WEREWOLF!!! IT ATTACKS THE HORSE!!!

The Horse comes back down to his front feet again, ready to charge at THE WEREWOLF! One hoof brushes something a little bit soft and he moves it back, not wanting to stand on squishy stuff.

The Horse is in bad trouble. THE WEREWOLF! is standing there with a pain stick in his hand and he wants to use it on The Horse. He is upwind from The Horse, and The Horse can smell the terrible smell of monster…

Should The Horse run away or charge? He rears a little, bouncing on his forefeet, trying to make up his mind between fight and flight.

But here, running down the hill, comes That Damned Dog. How strange – it is limping. Has it hurt its leg? It has its teeth bared and the hair along its back is standing up. It makes loud noises that hurt The Horse's sensitive ears.

"BACK OFF!! BACK OFF!! BACK OFF!!" shouts That Damned Dog.

This is strange. Instead of running to help its friend THE WEREWOLF!, That Damned Dog stands between THE WEREWOLF! and The Horse. It bares its teeth.

"Grrr-don't-do-anything-you-will-regret-grrrr," says That Damned Dog.

The Horse is completely stumped. That Damned Dog is not growling at The Horse – it is growling at THE WEREWOLF!

Oops, he has forgotten about the threat under his nose. But a whimpering reminds him.

"Whine whine whine I am frightened and deserve to be," says the voice and smell of Total Incompetent.

How strange – isn't The Monster In The Night there? The Horse peers down at the ground, first with one eye then the other, trying to get a fix on What Is Real.

The Horse is briefly confused between What Is Past and What Is. For a moment The Monster In The Night wavers and is Total Incompetent, that stupid monkeycolt. The Horse does not kill monkeycolts, no matter how stupid they are, not unless they are Threats to The Horse and The Horse's Herd.

The Horse decides to back up a little bit.

But then THE WEREWOLF! growls at That Damned Dog, unnerving The Horse yet again, and The Horse decides he might as well take care of all threats right now.

Now, where am I? thinks The Horse, very confused and angry again. Oh yes. Stomping threats. Is the monkeycolt a threat? I feel very unnerved, so it must be a threat. Yes. I must stomp on the monkeycolt which is a threat.

But the taste in his mouth has faded. He can smell non-monsters more easily now. And the monkeycolt is cringing quite pleasingly. Maybe it has learned a lesson. The Horse can afford to be generous. The best stallions (like him) are magnanimous in victory. Equine instinct lets him know mares think it's sexy. Besides, The Horse does not stomp monkeycolts into the ground. That's against The Rules.

The Horse backs up a step and swings his head around to get a better idea of how That Damned Dog is faring with THE WEREWOLF!

Maybe it's a good time to run away or attack THE WEREWOLF! instead.

Oh no – things are getting worse: the werewolf! is in the paddock and now here come The Horse's Black Colt and Palomino Filly. They shout angry uggabuggas at THE WEREWOLF! They say: "Get out! Get out of the paddock! Do not stand so aggressively before The Horse!"

THE WEREWOLF! says, "I am the leader. I tell you what to do. Do not argue with me, I am very tired and angry and things have not been going well for me for a very, very long time and I am all alone in a place where I thought I would have friends. My temper is very short."

The Horse has little sympathy. Many are alone. The Horse is alone for most of the day – or he has been until lately. It is nice having Sleepy Monkeystallion in his stable, even if it does stink the place up a bit.

Here comes The Horse's Palomino Colt. He is running fast. He has one of those little sticks in his hand, but that's not what bothers The Horse: all three of his youngstock are very, very close to THE WEREWOLF! now.

THE WEREWOLF! will kill the colts and filly.

That switch in his equine brain clicks over to a setting marked: DEFEND FOALS FROM WOLVES.

Red mist closes down just about every other neuron not dedicated to this task and The Horse barrels down the hill.

THE WEREWOLF!'s face goes white as he leaps out of the paddock, crashing into the colt and filly. The Horse screams at THE WEREWOLF!, telling him to get the FUCK away from the foals! The gate slams shut – but so what? The Horse doesn't care about minor rules like staying in his territory now, not when wolves are near The Horse's Colts and Filly.

He jumps.

Wards tickle his belly and flanks as he clears the high gate in an easy leap.

There is a scream from the filly but The Horse is too busy dealing with Threats to look at her. He protects her and the colts – all the youngstock – from Threats like THE WEREWOLF!

WHUM!!!

The Horse prances to a halt, nearly tripping over his own forefeet in astonishment. There is a large sky-colour wall in front of him. Has the sky fallen? Is THE WEREWOLF! beyond the sky?

This is bewildering. Infuriating.

The Horse is still intent on attacking… something… He is breathing hard and the hair is prickling down his neck and shoulders. That means he is meant to be fighting. But here is the sky, come down to meet him. The sky is not an enemy, is it?

Just in case it is, The Horse strikes out at the sky-colour wall with a forefoot. His hoof bounces off! He peers closer and snorts at it to see if it will react or respond to the challenge. Ah yes – there, behind the thick sky-colour, is THE WEREWOLF.

The Palomino Filly is making fast ugga-bugga noises.

The Horse barely notices her. There is THE WEREWOLF to deal with. The Horse rears and hammers at the wall of sky with his forefeet. Behind it, THE WEREWOLF cringes. THE WEREWOLF has dropped his painstick and the sky has taken away the smell of werewolf…

Who is The Horse meant to be fighting?

Flies and ticks – he keeps losing track. Blood is pounding in his ears and behind his eyes and his head hurts with the pressure of anger and fear. He is sure he is fighting a Monster In The Night and a Werewolf… but where are they? He can't smell enemies any more. All there is is a silhouette of a worn-looking monkeyhorse at the back of a wall of sky.

The Horse rears once more, drops to the ground and paws at it in frustration. It feels like The Rules are crumbling around him. He is shaking all over. His head aches with trying to understand this world of attackers which pop up out of nowhere and melt away as fast as they arrive. Leopards; leopards and bears and lions all around… His memory – such as it is – keeps shouting warnings of bright lights flying through the air towards him, coming to sting and burn and wound and turn him inside out with agony…

Where are all the safe places?

"Simon. The Horse," says Palomino Filly. Her voice is calm, as is the set of her shoulders and angle of her head. She pats the wall of sky. "Ugga bugga. Simon, ugga bugga. We are here together, The Horse. We are safe together. You protect me and I protect you by reminding you who you are. I find the safe places and lead you there."

She…

…is competent.

The Horse takes a cautious step towards her.

She comes the rest of the way. And then her hand is on the headthing, unbuckling it, taking the hurting metal thing (tasting nastily metal with The Horse's blood) out and handing it to The Black Colt, who is standing just in front of That Damned Dog. Her hand is holding the rope under The Horse's jaw. It is a quiet, gentle hold. The Horse could break it easily, but the world is safer with her hand directing it. She murmurs quiet reassurance and directs The Palomino Colt to unbuckle the bellything and remove the backthing.

What a relief! The Horse shakes himself all over.

Movement behind the sky. The Horse flicks his ears back and rears just a little, warning enemies, wondering if it is THE WEREWOLF coming back. It certainly looks like that particular monster.

Gentle reassuring whickers from Palomino Filly tell The Horse he doesn't need to fight anyone right now, though. She is unafraid. So are his two colts, although he can smell that they have recently been very upset. The Horse's Black Colt smells of chickens.

That's definitely strange.

He swings his head around to snuffle at The Black Colt to make sure he's not turning into a chicken, testing around the colt's face to see if he has chickenbreath.

The colt makes that odd burbling whinny they all make sometimes when they are in a good mood, and pats The Horse's head.

The Palomino Colt says huffily, "Ugga bugga. Hey, I'm here too, you know. I'm very important in the world and The Black Colt isn't the only one in the herd." He pats The Horse's shoulder.

The Horse briefly checks his hands for peppermints.

None. Just a slight odour of jealousy.

Oh well. The Horse gives him an affectionate nip on the shoulder before lifting his head to look around for any new attackers.

The Palomino Filly is giving commands. But she is competent, so that's acceptable. She takes the rope again and leads The Horse back into his paddock.

The Horse pricks up his ears. There are two wounded monkeycolts in the paddock. They whimper when they look at him. Oh, now he remembers. They are very badly behaved monkeycolts. The Horse punishes them in the past.

They look extremely punished in the now. Wet stuff is running from their eyes and noses. The Palomino Filly doesn't appear to notice them – she wants him to follow her up to his shelter.

The Horse stops. He doesn't care too much about the bad monkeycolts, but he doesn't want to leave The Horse's Colts alone with… with… aren't there monsters here? Something bad. Very recent badness. He doesn't want them in a Bad Place. It would be negligent of the Resident Stallion to leave them. The Horse shakes his head when The Palomino Filly tugs at the rope, and stops and looks back.

The colts are communicating with a monkeyhorse shape behind the wall of sky. That Damned Dog is with them.

The Horse whinnies – "Come along this instant! Don't make me come back there…!" – and paws the ground impatiently.

The colts obey. The Black Colt checks the punished monkeycolts on the way towards The Horse, but doesn't stop for more than a few brief angry ugga-buggas at them. That Damned Dog follows. The Horse lays back his ears at the canine shape, but the Palomino Filly clucks at him and shakes the rope, distracting him, reminding him that this is not a Bad Dog, even if all doggy-shapes are an abomination against the security of the Herd. The Horse, impatient with the energies left over from rage and fear still bubbling in his blood and twitching his muscles, prances on the spot and tosses his head, not enough to unbalance The Horse's Palomino Filly, just enough to remind everyone that the Herd Stallion is around and not in a mood to put up with nonsense or monsters.

He rears, momentarily startled, as The Palomino Filly pulls out a pointy stick, flicks it, and mutters something. But then he remembers how competent she is. She would never use it to harm her The Horse. The Horse settles again, bouncing a little to feel the springiness of tendons and ligaments in his legs, reminding himself he is powerful enough to deal with those who would use their pointy sticks to harm The Horse and his herd. Just to prove it, he rears, leaps up, and kicks out backwards.

There is a quick breath from The Horse's Palomino Filly.

"Ugga bugga, Simon. Good Simon. Settle down, The Horse. Good The Horse. Stand with all four feet on the ground."

"Ugga bugga!" says The Palomino Colt. "Bloody hell!"

"Bark! Bark bark whine. I don't want to get kicked by The Horse and I don't want anyone else getting kicked by The Horse either," says That Damned Dog.

That Damned Dog has a point. Damn it. That kick goes a little too close to The Palomino Colt. The Horse decides to keep all feet on the ground. For now.

"Ugga bugga. Ugga ugga bugga ugga. Bugga bug ug ug bugga bug. Come on," says The Horse's Black Colt, who is finished checking the punished monkeycolts. He wants to go for a walk. Good idea, thinks The Horse. Time to get some exercise and work out all this pent-up energy.

He looks back and sees the wall of sky is gone. There is a monkeyhorse standing where it should be.

The monkeyhorse looks like THE WEREWOLF. The Horse stops and flicks his ears as he considers this. Well, he decides, calming down a few knots, The Werewolf is nowhere near any of The Horse's youngstock and not even in the paddock, so he guesses that's not The Horse's problem. He doesn't mind the werewolf so long as it is far away. Providing everyone in the Herd stays near The Horse, that's okay.

(Although if That Damned Dog gets any closer he gets such a hoof between the eyes…)

They walk around to the other side of the hill and continue out the far gate, wandering along progressively rocky sheep trails between banks of bracken and heather. The occasional rabbit or bird – partridge, grouse, pheasant… all the same as far as The Horse is concerned – rockets up, the first few startling him massively, making him rear and shy, but eventually he becomes indifferent.

They stop on an outcrop far from the paddock. Marvellous view over my territory, thinks The Horse. The turrets of the castle are visible over the ridge, but tiny, as if the castle is the size of the little stable. There is the usual blot in the distance, that mess of trees and darkness. The Horse hates the forest. The forest is uncertainty and Anarchy. The forest is in a time when he is not Herd Stallion, therefore not powerful and sure, instead it is a time when he is always angry and uncertain and under attack. Only the company of a herd of unicorns could make The Horse stay in the forest. Other than the peace he finds in the company of unicorns, the forest is made up of lies and the only truth in it is that foals who wander without a stallion to look after them get eaten by monsters.

The forest is far away. Satisfied by this, The Horse puts his head down and begins to graze on some of the grasses not in his paddock – a change of diet is always welcome.

That Damned Dog flops down on his side, long pale tongue lolling. The colts find rocks to sit on. The filly brushes her hands over The Horse, checking him for any gorse prickles. He twitches his tail and stamps a back foot as she touches his sore ribs.

"Ugga?"

He turns his head to watch as she gets out her pointy stick, waves it, and his side glows like buttercups with sky-colour splotches over the painful parts.

"Ugga bastards," she says. Her upper lip has gone very tight. She wants to bite and kick someone. The Horse knows it's not him she's angry at, of course. Who, then?

The colts, who have been following the dog's example and lying back to stare up at the sky, sit up. They ask questions. At The Palomino Filly's answers, they take on belligerent stances.

The Horse hopes they aren't going to start fighting. He's got enough going on lately without breaking up squabbles between colts whose hormones are kicking in.

A flick of the filly's wand and the sky-colour spots disappear – along with the pain, although there's still some tenderness. She checks the rest of The Horse, paying careful attention to his bruised gums.

The Horse swallows his mouthful of grass and yawns, making things even easier for her. She finishes and begins to scratch his neck in all the places he likes. Ahh – lovely. He yawns again and begins to groom her in return, biting gently at the loose hide of her shoulder. The Horse is a well-mannered horse – he remembers it's strange how The Horse's Colts don't like being groomed, though; when they groom him they push The Horse's head away every time the well-mannered The Horse tries to groom them back. Maybe they are in awe of such an astonishingly majestic Herd Stallion. Luckily The Palomino Filly is more relaxed, because The Horse enjoys a spot of Mutual Grooming as much as the next horse.

He's feeling quite relaxed now. Grooming is good, even when you're not allowed to groom in return. That is a nice walk to this calm place. And the youngstock he looks after are all here, the colts settling down again. Everything is good. Everything is correct and Within The Rules. Apart from That Damned D- hay, that's really strange!

The Horse's ears shoot forward, almost touching at the tips, as That Damned Dog stretches and changes.

That Damned Dog is gone.

There, where it is in the past, is Sleepy Monkeystallion.

The Horse whinnies, pleased to see his friend out here.

Sleepy Monkeystallion makes the burbling whinny sound, although his sounds a little bit like a dog barking, and stands up to pat The Horse's nose.

The Palomino Filly is tense; suddenly, unreasonably, unfathomably sad. The Horse doesn't know why. They are away from the commotion going on earlier. She's not afraid of Sleepy Monkeystallion (well, why should she be? Sleepy Monkeystallion is a fine chap. He even has hopes for Sleepy Monkeystallion learning how to groom properly!). There are no monsters out here – on this wide open ground he would be able to see them coming from miles away. No crazy monkeycolts are trying to make him do something outside The Rules. Thank goodness that part of the day is over. There is enough ugga-bugga'ing around for one day from dolts of colts. He is taking a bite from the next one who tries anything Against The Rules.

Sleepy Monkeystallion pulls at The Horse's ears. The Horse could fall asleep to this… the day has become almost perfect.

But he wishes he could make The Horse's Adored Palomino Filly stop being so sad.

Why is she sad?

The Horse wonders if it's something to do with him being friends with Sleepy Monkeystallion – she starts being sad when The Horse whinnies to Sleepy Monkeystallion.

She doesn't smell of jealousy, which would be more normal. She smells of sadness.

The Horse nudges at her arm. She ruffles his mane. She makes the burbling whinny sound, which should be a happy sound.

She doesn't smell happy. The Horse nudges her arm again, trying to get her focussed on this good part of the day. She leans in, resting an arm over his neck, he taking her weight easily. Sighing, she moves back until she can put both arms over his back and rest her head against him. He can feel her breath slightly moist through his coat. It is a living reminder he is not alone any more.

"Ugga. Good Simon."

And he knows she is saying "I love you."

She knows he would kill werewolves for her.

If she asks him not to kill a werewolf, could he do that for her?

Maybe. That's how important she is.

ooOOoo

A/N: 6. Ugga! Whew!