Spirit Warrior - The Keeper Of The Northern Gate

The Keeper of the Dying Lands - IIIIII

When the sun is down, Enyadell is biting cold. I pull the black cloak tighter around me to keep the cold at bay. It's not near warm enough for the cold weather, but I had no time to get a new one mad as we left Kaupa so fast.

As I sneak across the courtyard I pull the hood of the cloak up to hide my blond hair from view. I know if anyone sees me out here I'll be punished or worse, but I can't keep away.

I only open the heavy stable doors just enough so I can slip through, not that I would be able to open them more nonetheless. I slip through the door making sure my cloak doesn't' get caught in the small gap that the door leaves.

The barn smells of fresh hay and dust. The smell of the horses seems calming to me. The horses are quietly munching on their hay, snorting good-naturedly at each other. I walk past the many stalls each with a horse in. Each horse has its own personality, own colors, and shapes. They're all different, which is so very surprising to me. It seems that these horses have more personality than most humans. They seem so incredibly honest, if they don't like each other, they won't pretend they do. I wish people were that simple, it would make everything much easier.

At the very back of the stable in a dark corner, I see a hint of white fur. Different from the other horses, she's standing with her head pointing into a corner. I step closer to the stall and lean on the stall gate.

I look into her small stall, way too small for a horse her size, the floor is covered with yellow straw. I furrow my brows when I see none of the fresh green hay in her stall. They won't feed a horse that's no use to them. They are exactly like my father, they only keep things they can use.

I quickly walk over to the other end of the barn and grab a bundle of hay, getting it all over myself in the process. I feel a few straws getting into my shoes, pricing at the bottom of my feet. I stop for a short second, trying to shake it out of the flimsy shoe but in the end, I just give it up.

A little bit of hay never hurt anyone. I open the stall gate slowly the horse lifts its head slowly at the sound but doesn't turn its head. I smile lightly and reach out a hand to pet her hind lightly. The soft fur underneath my fingers reminds of a feather, just as when she walks, light like a feather. So I call her just that "'Quesse,".

At the sound of my voice, she picks up her head slightly and turns one ear in my direction. I bravely take a step forward, still with an armful of hay.

"Aaye Quesse" I keep my voice soft to not scare the animal as I step closer. When I'm an arm's length away from her she catches the smell of hay, and turns her head to me completely and takes a small mouthful from the bundle.

She snorts quietly shaking her head making her white ears flab around her head. With her fast movement, a ray of small hairs detaches themselves from her skin and float around in the air like little snowflakes. As I breathe in it tingles in my nose, making me sneeze loudly. The horse looks at me slightly alarmed, not knowing whether to be frightened or not.

She lets me put down the hay and she happily starts to pick at it. Slide my hand over her strong neck stroking the fur gently.

"You are a gentle soul, are you not?" I whisper gently to her. She nickers lightly back at me with her mouth full of hay. She blinks her big dark eyes at me as she munches on the hay. Each time she opens her eyes I can see myself reflected in them.

I use the night to brush down her white fur, with a soft brush I found by one of the other stalls. I've noticed, that different from the other horses she has no halter or bridle hanging on the stall gate. I brush her until all the smudge is gone from her white fur. I've never seen a horse as white as her; even her mane is all white.

It is white but horribly knotted. I gently try to unknot the stands of white mane, but my, it must have been a long time since anyone had taken the time to do this.