HotRod was a dark brown, almost black colt with soft deep brown eyes. He was a stallion but gentle and kind. He played alongside the other colts in the herd and together the juveniles grew strong and learned to be horses. They wrestled and raced and spent long days in the Kentucky sun.
For as long as he could remember, HotRod had loved the red mare. He had met her when he was but a young horse, barely weaned from his mother. He stood in the pasture beside hers and was mesmerized by the way the wind lifted her reddish blond mane in its caress. Her laughter floated to him across the grass and his heart forgot to beat for a moment. He lifted his black muzzle into the air and her scent called to him like a familiar melody. It played on the wind as it rolled across the grassy expanse and captured him in an invisible snare. He was unable to move as it surrounded and engulfed and enslaved him.
She was older than he by just a foal crop or two and she wore her age with confidence and maturity. She was in the prime of her life and was strong and beautiful. She had come to the farm earlier this year and was meant for the older stallion- she was not here for HotRod. Still, her essence called to him like a siren. Each day he waited beside the fence hoping for a glimpse, a casual hello, the briefest encounter. His life was pieced together by moments stolen with the red mare.
She knew that the young stallion adored her and casually tossed him an occasional glance. Some days, she was bolder and turned her body so that he could see her long flaxen tail. As he grew older, it became nearly painful for him to breathe her aroma. Yet it was even more painful for him to not see her so he endured. As he grew stronger, he became frustrated. He wanted the red mare for his own. He quarreled with his friends more often. He argued more often with the humans who cared for him. He began to think of nothing else but possessing her for his own.
HotRod began to despair. Surely he would never have such a lovely mare to call his own. He watched the group of mares canter down the hill in the paddock next door and toward the fence where he stood alone. As a herd, the mares broke into a trot and then to a walk and moved slowly past the small brown stallion. He pensively watched the red mare on the edge of the herd thinking how lovely she was. As she passed him, she inclined her head toward him for the briefest moment and whispered, "Someday, little one. Some day."
Ah, a hopeful ending. I was worried. He's a good boy.
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