Scorchs past

The stable was very nice, with its luxorios wood paneling and exposed brick which made up its walls. Skylights let air filter in from above and flower pots hung from every other wooden beam. The stalls had large, paneled windows to look outside and their barred doors had an opening for the horses to poke their heads out. 

Separated from the neighbors by the beautiful, solid brick walls and standing in soft bedding was a tall, black stallion with silver mane and tail. He had a big white blaze and high white socks. His mane was long, pristine and luscious. Blue ribbons adorned the stalls door. Not a speck of dust was on his coat, nothing to obscure its silky sheen. 

The window in his stall was closed. It had been forever, as once he stuck his head out, he would no longer turn or budge. This had vexed his owner. The glass was of a greenish hue, making it nigh impossible to look through. 

The stallion had taken to looking over his stall door, fixing his gaze on the barn's doors or rather, what lay beyond them. His owner seemed happy to see him look in their direction, even if he barely acknowledged anyone's presence. He was beautiful, truly. With striking eyes of yellow and blue and a sturdy, elegant build. This place seemed to fit him, a luxurious animal in a just as luxurious facility. White fencing, meticulously manicured hedges. A large arena with dark wood and big windows and ever smooth sand. Bronze metal on doors, hinges and old fashioned lanterns. For his owner, it was a dream facility, elegant to the smallest detail. 

The black stallion had won many shows ever since coming to be owned by them. He had been moved into the barn shortly after being acquired. Back then he had been mischievous and green, however had grown to be mature; quiet and serious. While he had a small number of traits that bothered his owner, they were happy to call him their own, proud to have such a fine horse to their name. 

For one, he barely heeded input from anyone on the ground, but this was negligible since he worked very well when ridden. Which was all he ever did, he was not explosive and hence didn't need to be lunged. He was dead calm, always and forever. After some desensitization training when he was younger, he no longer reacted to any distractions. 

What truly bothered them however was that he never looked at his owner anymore. 

As the years went on, this began to wear his owner down. They found him to be dull, wishing for a more spirited horse. A horse that would greet them, one that would lie in its stall and allow them to cuddle with it. A horse which was grateful and had vigor. One that had life within its eyes. 

All things the black stallion had long since ceased to be. Inside his nice stall with premium feed and air conditioning in the summer, he stood almost like a statue. Day in and out, unless he was taken for an hour or so to ride or a weekend show. He remained there, safe from harm which he could sustain if left on a paddock or pasture. Where his thick coat remained clean and his long mane was to stay intact. 

But at some point he had begun to rub it off on whatever spot he could find. It was braided up mostly and little opportunity for him to scratch his neck remained. That mane was beautiful and to be preserved after all. 

Less ribbons were added to the stall each year. He was an excellent, wonderful mover, but grew ever more stiff. He was aging, perhaps. When one door closes, another opens. His owner had always wanted to see him become a successful sire and this seemed like a fitting point in time. However, not many were interested. His breed was unusual, a mare to cross him with not easy to be found anywhere nearby. A few, yes. But not enough to fulfill his owner's ambitions or make him known at all.

Years he had spent in that stall, almost twenty four hours a day, nearly every day. He saw the skies change as the seasons passed him by, forever staring out those doors. The wind would carry in scents from outsides to remind him of the world beyond. 

The decision to part ways came eventually. 

There was a peculiar young man who was quite set on purchasing the stallion. He was meek and kindly, lacking practical experience when it came to horses, but very knowledgeable in theory. He knew the stallions' breed, but not how to handle the animals' thousand yard stare. The horse wasn't meant to be his anyways- it was intended as a gift, perhaps a strange choice of such, for a dear friend. To his owner it seemed like a good enough home. A downgrade from the nice barn, but still, just fine.

The sale was finalized. A new horse was set to move into the stallions stall and place soon. His then previous owner felt compelled to sell the black stallion sooner rather than later. It would all be fine, surely. The man was a little strange, but a horse as unmoving as the stallion would be a good fit for almost anyone. It wasn't really a gift the prior owner would have wanted to recieve, but they didn't want to dissuade the man with such comments. Really, there wasn't anything big wrong with that stallion. He had vices, little ones, or so they sold him as. They truly believed this. He was fine with the odd quirk here and there. For if he wasn't, what would that have said about the one who'd raised him to be what he was?