AC Claim #12456: Not even asking

The world was still covered in snow. The trunks of the surrounding trees were almost black against the snow that covered the old path through the forest. Ilya had set out before sunrise. He was dressed less warmly than most people would have preferred. As always, he wore his coat, which strongly resembled a cassock. It was finely embroidered with golden fabric that adorned its lapels. His pale skin was interrupted by black hair, which seemed strange, interrupted by three white strands. But none of that was what kept people away from his land. People had a certain way of reacting to him. Most became cautious. At least when they saw his eyes. Amber, so pale that it could be mistaken for citrine. Even that didn't do it justice. Rumors spread that they glowed when the moonlight hit them.
Of course. Just rumors. By God, Ilya didn't need moonlight to...

His light footsteps echoed in the snow as he followed a bend until they finally came to a halt. He found himself facing an old wagon that seemed to have fallen victim to the weather some time ago. Had it been so long since he had walked this path that he hadn't noticed an old coach box before? As if that weren't enough, a snort followed by a neigh rang out.

A horse was still standing near the decaying wagon. Restless. That wasn't surprising in itself. Since even humans were unsure how to behave around Ilya, this society based on their deaf-blind instincts, animals were often in a state of agitation and had fled or were ready to fight. But a horse? A Loshenka? The tattered leather straps on its body no longer seemed to be attached to the wreckage, yet it did not run away? Unusual. How long had it been here? How long to allow the leather to decay, yet the horse was still not excessively emaciated.
His hands still clasped behind his back, the man stood facing the animal. They looked at each other for a while. The longer the strange encounter lasted, the more it seemed to arouse mutual interest. The stallion did not take a step back. Neither did Ilya. Instead, he followed the horse's gaze to a nearby box. It was at least as old as the surrounding wood, but still strong enough to withstand a horse's hoof, it seemed. The animal did so once before looking at him again. Then a second and a third time.
“I understood you the first time.” Ilya's voice was clear but not raised.
He hadn't moved because he was still trying to decide whether to comply with the request or expect an ambush.

The dark animal, apparently a kind of tobiano, lowered its head and scraped at the ground.
“What now? First you won't let me pass, then you complain that I'm not cooperating? What kind of loshenka are you?”
Since the stallion's obvious displeasure was not followed by any threatening gestures, Ilya finally pulled his much too thin gloves smooth and strode over to the chest. It didn't take him long to pry the chest open, thanks to an iron bar that had apparently once been part of the cargo. No sooner had the lid been pried open than a rough shove from behind sent him landing in the snow. What appeared in the chest was nothing more than... hay? Hay into which the horse stuck its head, only to look up at him shortly afterwards, chewing.
A disapproving snort was the response as the involuntary assistant rose from the snow. Who had been so quick-witted as to store hay in a chest? And this horse? Clever, he had to give it that. Smarter than he had thought.

“Well, now that you have what you wanted, good day!”
His grumbling quickly turned to regret as he continued on his way. A horse. In the middle of the wilderness. That used him as a can opener. One would think that there was nothing left to surprise a man like him. But apparently, there was.
Thirty minutes must have passed when he thought he heard a noise behind him. A sigh followed. Then he turned around to see that the creature following him was by no means a stranger. Once again, the stallion stopped to look at him. He had followed him as soon as he had eaten enough to remember that the guy seemed useful.
“I'm not a man for a haystack!”
Ilya's statement fell on deaf ears. Besides, no one had said it had to be just one. The stallion came closer.
“What should I tell my cat?”
Yes, that sounded like a problem that was not the horse's concern. It continued to approach.

Ilya shook his head. He would try several more times to shake off the animal. But there was nothing he could do. It took another two hours before he arrived at his property, where the horse immediately took over his barn. He had wanted to prepare it for sheep. No stall. Just a large heated room with straw, water, and enough feed. For a while, he watched as the animal settled in. What now? Sheep were history for the time being. What should he call it? And how was he supposed to learn to handle a horse? He hadn't even chosen the animal. Rather, it had chosen him. This was the first time in years that he found himself unable to give an answer.