Crash.

Gilan grimaced and gripped tighter as the fence he was standing on shivered ominously from the impact of the horse smacking it. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, wincing as the horse slammed into the side of the pen again before bolting once more.

The grim-faced stablemaster beside him shook his head sadly. "The rider was killed out on a patrol, and it drove the poor thing half mad." Face hardening, he continued, "The idiot from the garrison who received him afterward simply finished the job. The horse has always been high-strung, but at one time he was a lovely animal... Good personality, nice hind leg on him... I wouldn't have minded getting some colts from him..." The man trailed off for a moment before continuing, unable to mask his upset. "I hate seeing good horses left to bad horsepeople. Now, I'm afraid he's just about ruined."

"Ruined?" Gilan's gut roiled at the thought as he watched the band of stable boys trying unsuccessfully to herd the horse into the smaller pen. Lather dripped from the horse's neck as it furiously pawed the dirt, mouth working at the air in agitation. "He just needs time."

The stablemaster's face tightened with sadness. "Maybe so, but I'm afraid he won't get it. He's gotten dangerous. The order's been given to have him put down tomorrow."

Gilan's face drained of color, and the stablemaster clapped his shoulder gently before making a shooing motion. "Be a good lad and run along to your master. Don't be around tomorrow, alright?" Without waiting for a response from the shell-shocked apprentice, the man then strode away towards the gate, shouting for his workers to gather to try to figure out an alternate way to move the animal.

Gilan watched them for a moment, hesitation tearing at his willowy frame before he finally set his jaw and slid through the fence rails into the enclosure. A glance back confirmed that the stable workers were still deep in discussion, and with a deep breath, the boy slowly began to walk towards the horse, his right hand held out encouragingly.

"That'ta boy," Gilan said softly, stopping several paces away. "You're scared to death." The horse took a shuddering breath and a half step forward, stretching a quivering neck out to sniff the boy's outstretched hand. "That's a good boy, it's alright..."

Crack.

The metallic bang of a slamming gate rang through the air, and the reaction was instantaneous. The horse's eyes whited, and with a high squeal, he went up onto his hind legs. Gilan gasped, his eyes widening as he watched the flailing front legs descending upon him.

A hoof skimmed his cheek, and the world whited out.

The first thing Gilan was aware of was the frantic rambling of one of the younger stable hands.

"He's dead, we're dead, the Ranger is going to kill us, we're all dead-"

"Shut up, Eric!"

"But he's going to kill us!"

Blinking the blur from his eyes, the young Ranger feebly attempted to raise a hand to his face, still numb and heavy from the impact... Only for his wrist to be grabbed and pushed back down. "No, don't touch. Just lie still a moment," someone said.

"What..." Gilan questioned in a small voice, again trying to lift his hand. The numbness was beginning to fade, leaving a dull ache in its place.

"You're an idiot boy, is what happened," came the flat reply - the stablemaster, Gilan recognized now. No wonder he was annoyed, Gilan thought, struck with an inexplicable urge to giggle. Squeezing his eyes shut, the young Ranger attempted to sit up.

An action that would turn out to be a mistake.

Pain exploded through Gilan's head, and he lurched sideways as vomit bubbled from his mouth, burning at his throat and lips. Well, Halt always said he was too hasty, Gilan thought in complete misery as he wiped his mouth.

The stablemaster shook his head in disbelief. "We're right lucky this didn't end worse." The man shuddered as a thought crossed his mind. "What a conversation that would be - 'Sorry, Ranger Halt, but we just watched your apprentice get killed by one of our horses.'"

"We don't have to tell Halt," Gilan replied as he again clawed himself into a sitting position. "In fact, it might be better for all of us if we don't."

The stablemaster barked out a laugh. "I don't have a death wish, boy. Eric, you go down to the Ranger's cabin and let him know what's happened." Ignoring the stablehand's groan, the man turned back to Gilan. "You, on the other hand, are going to the infirmary. Aiken, make sure he gets there."

"I'm fine! I don't need to go to the infirmary," Gilan insisted, and with great effort finally managed to shove himself to his feet. He hated the infirmary - going for a reason as stupid as this, when he was fine and it wasn't even that bad-

Gilan threw up again, and he knew then and there his argument was lost.

"It's a wonder that hoof only skimmed you," the assistant said as he gaped at the darkening bruise on Gilan's cheekbone before turning to prepare a compress. Gilan simply sighed and shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking towards the infirmary doors as he gauged how long he had before his mentor swept in, all short sentences and withered glares.

As it turned out, not nearly long enough. The infirmary door cracked open, and Halt stalked in. Dark eyes surveyed the hall for only a moment before landing on his apprentice. One look at his mentor's grim expression had Gilan swallowing, suddenly wishing that the horse had clocked him a little harder.

Halt simply stared at him for several long moments, cord-like tension rippling through the air. The assistant healer gave a nervous laugh before hurriedly shuffling away, murmuring about needing another herb. Halt waited until the assistant was out of earshot before approaching.

"You know, I dislike my mornings starting with babbling stable boys - especially ones carrying the news that my apprentice has just gotten his head smashed in by a horse," Halt stated curtly as he crossed his arms, his raised eyebrow clearly demanding an explanation.

Gilan drew a breath before forcing a pleasant smile. "Lucky for you, you can finish your morning knowing that it's just a graze and that I'm fine."

"How did this 'graze' occur?" Halt asked, tilting Gilan's head to the side to better view the bruise. After eyeing it critically for a few moments, he drew his hand away back into sternly crossed arms.

"Horse reared up and touched me with a front leg," Gilan responded airily, taking the compress the assistant healer tentatively offered and holding it to his face. "It was my fault, really. The horse was worried and not ready."

"Both of which are correct, so your head can't be too badly broken - no more than usual, that is." Despite his dry statement, Halt turned to the healer expectantly.

"Oh! He, uh, should come back tomorrow for another check. He says he feels fine, but that was a solid bonk to his noggin, for sure. With the throwing up, it can't hurt to be too careful," The man answered hastily, flailing his hands about as he spoke in some messy attempt at gesturing.

Halt glared sideways at Gilan. "When were you planning on mentioning that?"

"...I was getting to it," the boy said lamely. Halt shook his head before addressing the healer again.

"I'll bring him back tomorrow morning," the Ranger stated, nodding his thanks before crossing his arms and frowning at Gilan. "Get up. We're going home."

Getting to his feet with minimal swaying, Gilan sighed at his mentor's back.

"Good luck," the healer called sympathetically, and Gilan gave him a gloomy smile.

"Thanks."

"They're going to kill the horse, Halt. Please, you can't let them!"

Halt considered his apprentice's pinched, pleading face and sighed. Gilan had immediately crashed on the sofa when they got back to the cabin and slept for the majority of the afternoon. Head injuries were nothing to take lightly, and his apprentice's wan, tired expression did little to alleviate the older man's still present concern.

"It's not my horse, Gilan. You know I have no say in the matter. You didn't help matters - you've only further convinced them that the horse is dangerous. Did you think about that?"

Gilan made a small noise in his throat. "I - I didn't think that-"

"No, you often don't." Halt threw the chopped meat into the stew with a little more force than necessary before sighing again and continuing in a softer tone, "Look... There's only so much we can do, and sometimes we have to accept that it's not enough. Rangers have a lot of sway in certain situations, but that's far out of our business and say. Short of turning him loose, I can't think of any way to stop it."

Gilan's eyes lit up at the suggestion, and Halt cut off his apprentice's opening mouth with a negative sweep of his hand. "And no, we can't turn him loose. Not because I'm above turning horses loose... But, again, think about it. A pampered stable horse left to fend for himself? He'd never make it."

The boy gloomily rested his head on his hand and absently rubbed at his temple - an fairly insignificant action, but to Halt was a dead giveaway that his apprentice's head was still pounding. With a frown, the Ranger reached over to lightly brush the back of his hand against Gilan's forehead to check for fever. The boy didn't seem overly warm, but Halt still sought reassurance. "You feel alright?"

Without lifting his head, Gilan gave a sad, lopsided smile. "Head hurts - shocking, I know." Heaving a sigh and with what looked like great effort, Gilan scrubbed his forehead one last time before sitting up again. "The horse wasn't always bad, you know. They were saying he used to be the nicest, well-mannered thing. They wanted foals from him. He just needs someone to give him another chance - help him feel safe again, you know..."

A beat of silence passed, before a bright glimmer of hope again lit the boy's eyes. "Do you think... Old Bob?"

Halt didn't answer, quietly thinking to himself as he so often did. Gilan took the silence to hurriedly continue, excitement bleeding into his tone as the boy spoke so quickly he practically tripped over himself, "I mean, Old Bob is probably the best horseman in Araluen! He's so patient, and he understands them, and, and- Oh! He's mentioned he's always looking for additions to improve the bloodline! The stablemaster said the horse had such a lovely hind leg on him, and-"

Halt swept his hand out again, and Gilan cut out, taking a gulp of air. "Breathe," The Ranger reminded him with light exasperation before pinching the bridge of his nose. "Old Bob. That's... not the worst idea I've ever heard."

"Aw, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"We would have to ask Bob, of course, and then there are the logistics of getting the horse to his place... A horse, which, mind you, apparently can't even be approached without feeling the need to bash your head in-"

("Only when someone slams a gate," Gilan offered helpfully.)

"But..." Halt tilted his head for a moment, giving it a last once over, before finishing, "That might actually work."

Gilan grinned and lurched to his feet, wobbling for only a moment before centering himself on the back of the chair. "Can we go get the horse? I bet if we each had a line, and ponied him between Blaze and Abelard..."

Halt raised an eyebrow at his student's haste. "Missing a step, aren't we? Probably should ask Old Bob first, hmm?"

Without missing a beat, Gilan tilted his head and pinched his lips into the softest, most innocent smile. The kid even threw in a few guileless-looking eyelash flutters. "Forgiveness over permission?"

Halt just knew that this clearly well-practiced expression had probably been used many a time to coax sweets out of kitchen girls.

Halt was no kitchen girl... However, wasn't he always on Gilan about using all his resources? The Ranger gave a long-suffering sigh. "Forgiveness over permission," he agreed...

...Only because it sounded so much like something he would say himself.

Old Bob wouldn't stop gushing over the horse. The Stablemaster had been thrilled to get him off his lot, only because of the renewed lease on life it gave the animal.

("If you think this man can work him through this... There's literally nothing left to lose.")

Moving the horse hadn't been easy, taking some clever roping from a talented stablehand to get their leads somewhere they could function. The horse had danced and lurched and pulled for most of the trip before settling into some semblance of a walk. Blaze and Abelard had kindly taken the yanking and shoving, continuing in their calm, placid walks - a demeanor that had eventually helped give the higher-strung animal some confidence.

"Nice bone on this 'un," Bob said knowingly, approvingly watching the horse as he tore across the pasture they had turned him loose in. His tail was flagged and he was snorting like a dragon, but Bob seemed unconcerned. "Just gotta let 'im learn to be a horse again. He has a soft eye; he can come out of this. A few weeks turned out with Old Wheeler will do him right." Even as Bob said the words, the horse cautiously approached the said old pony, arching his neck out to touch noses.

Gilan had seen this interaction play out more times than he could count, and he waited with some apprehension for the squeals and strikes that almost always followed this initial introduction. To the boy's surprise, Wheeler simply turned back to grazing. The other horse mirrored him, lowering his own head to the grass, and Gilan could practically see some of the tension fizzle out of the animal's form.

Old Bob gave a satisfied chuckle at the interaction, reaching out to fondly ruffle Gilan's hair. "You're a good boy to bring 'im here. Lucky, eh, Ranger? This kid's a good 'un." Glowing praise, but not unexpected; Bob had adored Gilan from the moment he met him.

Halt raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "He's too tall, too thin, and talks too much, but... I suppose I'll keep him." A glance at the dark bruise on Gilan's face had Halt's face withering slightly. "That is, if he can keep the future infirmary visits to a minimum - we have to go back again today. Purple's not his color, hmm?"

"Give it a few days!" Bob guffawed. "Maybe green will suit him better?"

Gilan gave them a languishing look. "Ha. Reckon I'm still better looking than you two," he grumbled.

Ever amused, Bob laughed again and clapped the boy's shoulder. "Keep'in ya humble, boy. You'll thank us one day."

"Maybe you'll learn to stay away from flailing hooves next time - maybe a line or two about not being hasty comes to mind?" Halt added mildly, and Gilan threw him a grin, accompanided by an innocent, open-handed shrug.

"Will try, but won't promise!"

Heya! I was cleaning out the folders - this is a SUPER old piece that I never got around to really cleaning up or editing. I wanted to get it out of my folder, but hope that someone out there finds some sort of joy in reading it!