[i]
“ He’s quite an enthusiastic chap, isn’t he?,” Galahad spoke amusedly as his newest steed continued  licking him in the face. The foal was stick-thin and smaller compared to his other brethren. His legs were reedy and there was not an ounce of fat under his alabaster coat. The rearer said that the foal would die by winter’s end. 

Justin contended that he would be a late bloomer. Justin rubbed his mane with gusto before reaching down towards his mouth to give him a bite of carrot he’d snuck in from the kitchens. 

“ So, what are you going to call him, squire?” Galahad leaned down next to him, patting his newest steed gently on the fur. 

“ You can name your horse?,” Justin questioned. Horses were killed in almost every campaign. It was a miracle if a knight could make it out of a campaign with one remaining only for it to serve as calvary fodder in the next. 

“ Proper knights do,”  Galahad cheekily replied  as he tapped the green crest on his breastplate and on top of the green paint was a red wyvern snarling at Justin. Justin looked at it with a mixture of wonder and jealousy. What would his sigil be?

“ The seers say it provides good tidings for victory,” Galahad said with a smirk. Justin rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure if 

Justin blinked, thinking for a while, before smiling back. 

“ I think you’ve just given me an idea….” 

[/i]

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[color=yellow][h3]SHINING KNIGHT[/h3][/color]

[color=yellow]Fellowship 2.2.1[/color]

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The paddock was childlishly easy to infiltrate. Justin had seen farming villages that were more fortified than whatever security had been afforded for. It was midnight and the parking lot was filtering out of the latest race, crowds of people abuzz with the mood of conversation and alcohol in the air. Tightening the hood around his head, Justin filtered out of the crowd and spotted a series of chain link fences around a squat square building. He hears the sound of loud neighing and the pungent scent of horse scat and hay. The odor brings him back to days when he used to replace horseshoes as one of his daily tasks as a squire. It’d taken nearly half a noon and by the time he was done, his attending knight’s steed had nearly taken his head off had he not been attentive.

He took a deep breath, stretching his arms out, before crawling on the fence and vaulting over to avoid the cut of the fragmented shards of glass that had been glued on top. He landed on the top soil ungracefully, the mud squelching underneath his weight. 

“ Buaidh.”  Justin’s timbre was low, a rough burr in his voice. “ Buaidh?” 
Only one stable room was lit. He slowly stepped into the light and his breath was taken away. There, underneath the shadow of a flickering incandescent lamp, was Victory. The horse didn’t look as though he had aged a day but the condition he was in disgusted Justin. His mane was uncombed. His fur was covered in flecks of dirt and Justin could see faded skin that were scars from mortar fire or shrapnel Victory had taken during their flight over Verdun. Over his thigh, the number “24” had been painted on with white acrylic. 

“ Victory - “ The horse’s ears perked up at his name. “ Victory. It’s me. Justin. I’ve come to get you out of here.” 

Victory just looked at him for several seconds and then, snorted disdainfully before returning back  to his rest. 

“ What?” Confusion was evident in Justin’s voice. This wasn’t the reunion he’d imagined. His steps became slower. “ Didn’t you hear what I said? I’ve come to get you out of here - “ 

Victory reared his head back, squinting his eyes as if he were insulted, before shuffling away and laying his head on the ground again, his ears twitching in annoyance. 

“ You were meant for greater things than this.”Justin had sat on a wooden stool that had been placed in the stable. His once proud steed just inched his body away, as if his presence repulsed him. “ We were friends. We were comrades on the field of war. Does any of that matter to you?”

He then pointed towards two patches of scarred skin on Victory’s back. 

“ How could you let them clip your wings?,” He asked quietly.  

Victory didn’t bother replying, still pretending to sleep. 

“ So, this is the life you have chosen?” Still no response. Justin continued to spur him on, feigning disbelief in his voice. “ Being a simple jousting steed appeals to you? Even a mule sowing a field would be more dignified than - “ 

Justin managed to duck in time as twin hooves shot up towards his head like bullets. The oak post behind him fractured into a spray of wooden splinters that sprayed on his skin painfully. The entire stable shuddered as strips of the post peeled off it. Justin looked at the remains of the post and then, at Victory as the horse slowly stood up on his fours and stared at him with livid rage. 

“ I don’t want to fight you. I came here to talk.” 

Victory simply huffed, lowered his head down and brushed the stable floor with his hooves, ready to charge at him. With a pained expression, Justin signed and raised his arms up, 

“ Fine. Let us talk in a language we’re both familiar with.”