bastian

The bare strip of earth that formed the Lagoon's barrier was a forlorn place, but Bastian felt more comfortable there than in the confines of the forest that covered much of his new home. Home. Even spoken silently, the word was bitter on the burly colt's lips, and lines of anger - and agony - twisted his expression. In his heart, the boy did not blame Dögun for selling his freedom, but he could not forget the word that had been spoken in that exchange. Bastard, the Lagoon's king had called him, and to Bastian's dismay, the title had quickly become his new namesake amongst the bachelors.

Perhaps Rade had intended it as a cruel jape, or perhaps he could not be bothered to remember the boy's true name. Either way, it left the bay draft with nothing of his prior life but memories - and a jagged wound that he probed in moments of solitude such as these. And here in the Lagoon, Bastian was alone more often than not - left to bleed in silence, and to curse his captors with every breath. Of the bachelors' leader, he saw little - Rade was known to leave the Lagoon for days at a time, and the other men were scattered in these frequent absences. Once, the boy had attempted to follow the Boss, but the palomino's trail led to the base of the Peak, where the wild women lived. Had the Lagoon's king been conspiring with its enemies?, Bastian wondered, but he could not find it in him to care.

Winter yielded reluctantly to the spring that marked his second year of life, which in turn surrendered to the blistering heat of summer. And so the colt passed from boyhood into the uncertain stage that preceded full maturity. He had already surpassed the Lagoon's strongest man in girth, and was fast approaching him in height as well. But try though Rade did to harden him into a soldier, Bastian remained placid and pliant. When the Boss matched him against another boy his age, the bay stood calm beneath the storm of the one-eyed colt's blows, moving only to offer his shoulder to the worst of the bites and kicks. His russet coat was soon covered with a scattering of scars, but still Bastian refused to defend himself.

If it was thieves and brigands he was destined to fight for, then he vowed to never strike a single blow.

The eye of the sun had begun to sink towards the sea, staining the waters of the Lagoon a vibrant ochre not unlike their leader's coat. Bastian turned away from the sunset and - ignoring the protest of his aching joints at the abrupt transition from stillness into motion - retreated into the shadows of the trees. But when his eyes adjusted to the eternal twilight that existed beneath the trees, the boy found a dark figure blocking his path, and stepped back from the flash of a golden eye as it turned in his direction.

The silence pressed on him from all sides, but Bastian could not move his bloodless lips to speak.

colt / two / bay sabino / draft mix / 16.2hh