Stable boy

Sylva is alone in the world. She lives in a manor with her mom but still her mom wants her to live on high society. She can't, not with having to marry Hash in a year or with her love of horses. Then she meets Jane. A girl hiding in her stables, together they start on a journey to freedom.

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15. 15

The next day I snuck out before dawn, out to the stable again.  This time though I started with the waters.  Slowly I made my way down the hall.  Each bucket was a gallon of water.  This time I had a lamp with me.  You might think that this was hard.  No.  Each time one arm gets tired you switch and carried the lamp in the other hand.

When I was done with the water the boy showed his face.

“You could have helped,” I suggested.

“I need sleep to, now do you want help with the pulley?” he said coldly.

“Of course I want help,” I said wondering why he had to be so blunt.

 “Good I’ll get the pulley hooked up,” he said already off to the stairs.

“I want to do that,” I protested.

“After last time,” he questioned.

I backed off with the argument.

A few moments later the bale was hung and I held the main guide rope.  The boy jumped down the stack that was still just as tall as last time.  He took the other rope.

Together we lowered the bale to the ground.  There is not much like that.  Putting your trust in the other person’s will and physical strength.

“So you're stronger than you look,” he said once the ropes were untied.

“You watched me do the water,” I complained.

“No you doing the water woke me up,” he replied fast.

“What is with your voice?” I asked noticing it again.

He opened him mouth to answer.  A wild horse scream came out.

“What was that?” he asked once it was over.

I turned and ran to the entrance.

“Where are you going!” he shouted.

I did not answer

He shifted on his feet for a bit then caught up with me.

“The manager,” he hissed once he had caught up with me.

“So that was a horse,” I answered.

“I care about my life more,” he protested.

“Are you not dedicated?” I asked.

“No I just stay alive to help more!” he argued.

“Fine!” I snapped.  At least his reason is just I thought to myself.

The horse was gergas, it had a dark rown chout and pitch black mane.  The tail was cropped short which was one of the less likable fashion, according to my dad.  It kept the horse from batting flies off.

“It’s the stallion,” the boy whispered next to me.  Till then I had not realized that we had stopped running.

The horse must have had at least five ropes.  Two on his front hoofs and three pulse on his neck.  There were groom's jumping around and trying to lead the stallion, making it impossible to count.  

The stallion himself though was putting up a magnificent fight.  He was bucking, kicking and rearing.  Most horses would not have managed to hit more than one groom with slow reflexes but this stallion had taken out a good few.  That would be the regret of my dad paying for more bandages later I thought remotely.  Whenever the stallion got dragged down he just kicked his back legs out, which forced the groom to move, then he got up and spun.  It held so much power to it.  You could see slick muscles along his flank even with bone poking out.  My favorite thing though was not the fight or the blood.  It was the stallion’s passion.

“We have to do something,” said the boy.

“What?” I asked, my eyes never leaving the stallion.

“You have the authority here,” he said.

“What’s to stop the stallion from running off?” I asked.

We stopped and went our separate ways.  The boy left first, it had been a hard sniffle then sprinting off.  I left soon after with nothing I could do and no time to do it.  I hated myself for doing that.

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