Fan Fiction ❯ Pax Equinus ❯ Chapter 1

Notes: This could probably best be referred to as "visual philosophizing"; it's more a scene than a true story, but it struck me so hard that I couldn't help but write it down. Written during a U.S. history class, and it's nominally set during the Revolutionary War, though that really has very little relevance to the story itself. I only took a year of Latin in seventh grade, so if you actually know what the title means and it doesn't make sense to you, I'm very, very sorry.

Backdating: This was written in September 2004.

Two horses stand in the middle of a battlefield.

They are surrounded by the dead and dying. Groans and cries of pain punctuate the silence that has fallen now that the battle is over. Humans in red and blue lie sprawled in unnatural positions, their muskets and sabers littering the ground. The rolling field is awash with blood. Slowly, the cries of pain fade away. Soon a bird chirrups bravely into the silence. More join in, their songs underlaid by the soft tinkle of running water and the whisper of a gentle breeze.

One of the horses is a buckskin mare, her tan coat and black mane dashed with blood. She stands over a man in red, her reins still grasped in the corpse's stiffening hand. Lowering her head, she sniffs warily at the blood pooling beneath him, then dances backwards, not keen on staying so close to a corpse. There's only a moment of resistance as she tosses her head, and then she's free, her reins dangling loose. Her head rises, and her nostrils flare as she sniffs the air. Scenting water nearby, a blessed relief from the heavy stench of blood and death, she steps eagerly towards it.

The other horse is a dappled grey, who favors her gashed foreleg as she limps nervously among the bodies. A blue cap is tilted jauntily over the pommel of her saddle, as if its owner will put it on again at any moment. As she jumps sideways to avoid a twitching soldier beneath her hooves, it slides off to fall into the mud. Whatever she's standing in resists for a moment as she lifts her hoof, then gives way with a wet noise and a muffled snap. She stumbles, snorting in alarm, and limps heavily as she trots forward a few steps. Then she also catches the scent of water, and limps forward to follow it.

A stream runs across one corner of the battleground, slightly muddied. The two mares reach it at the same time. The buckskin snorts loudly in surprise; the grey shies backward and whickers nervously. Then the buckskin steps forward, placing her hooves carefully as she crosses the stream. They sniff each other, whicker, and circle each other, snorting warily. The grey backs off when the buckskin squeals and kicks. Now they nicker, friendlier, more comfortable now that they have an established status quo. Each keeping an eye on the other, they return to the stream and begin to drink.

The buckskin's reins catch under her hoof as she raises her head; with a single hard jerk, they snap. The grey's saddle has been sliding sideways, and as it grows too irritating to ignore, she goes into a brief display of violent athletics before succeeding in kicking it off. They engage in another round of sniffing and snorting, this time with an air of familiarity.

Night is approaching. The buckskin mare looks around disinterestedly, then begins to walk away from the battlefield. After a moment's pause, the grey mare follows. They break into a trot as they start up a hill, the grey still limping but gamely keeping up with the buckskin.

Together, the two horses vanish over the crest of the hill, following the setting sun.