Day 3... of 90?

Today Helmuth was finishing his work with a young, spirited bay. This young breed had caused him no trouble, save for a few bruises in the early days of training. Soon this one would be ready for a healthy working life, and Helmuth could predict that he would live a long life in service, happily harnessed to some sledge or cart, working his short legs to the benefit of his farming master.

As they walked side-by-side along the path by the river, Helmuth took an accounting of the beast's muscular structure and the give-and-take of same-said muscles as they pulsed, rippling the bay's skin. These movements were anatomically correct, something he knew not by learned methods so much as he felt the rightness of it; it was as if a part of his soul was of an equine nature.

He knew better than to express this connection, of course. In this country, one did not speak of one's soul lightly--the mere idea that a soul could be anything other than Godly… no, that would be too presumptuous. Anything other than humble… no, that would suggest less than the perfection reflected by our one God. Really, it was best to leave the discussion of the soul to the clergy, rather than risk heresy oneself.

The simple fact was that he was known to be good with horses. He was able to produce fine, working animals, was paid well, and was constantly sought for work of this kind. So sought after that he had many overtures from families in this village and the next, begging to let their sons into his apprenticeship. To date, he had held these suggestions at a distance, but he knew he would soon need to relent, both to maintain the good relationship with his neighbors, as well as to ensure the presence of such skill in the region.

While he held sway with the training of the fine, four-legged beasts with fiery spirits, he never considered himself a teacher. The thought of taking a young pupil "under his wing," as the farmer had described, was nonsense. He had no means by which to pass his connection with horses to another human.

Nevertheless, the day was coming. Helmuth sighed to himself with resignation and patted the bay on the withers.

"Gut gemacht," he told the horse. Well done. These final days together had gone well and as expected. Though parting with the animal would leave a sense of loss, Helmuth was nevertheless proud of his work.

"Greetings, Master Helmuth!" came a voice from across the river. "She looks fine!"

Helmuth scanned the riverbank for the source of the greeting.

"Yes, Sir Charles," Helmuth called back, upon spotting the balding scalp of the bay's owner. "She is very gut. I think she is ready to come to work for you."

"That makes me very happy, Helmuth! It has been a good year for the crops and, God-willing, the king will have made safe the road to the fair this year. We will harvest well and have many buyers."

Sir Charles of Hafstone was a wealthy man, but as could not be argued, a wealthy man in a land where money could buy very little. Nevertheless, he took seriously his commitment to his lands and the dwellers thereupon. The respect he gave the common man was reflected back upon him with gratitude from the people. Unlike the northern landholdings, Hafstone had seen no unrest in over a hundred years.

Helmuth was grateful for this time of peace, as the quiet suited him far better than the constant fracas of his land of birth. In Sir Charles he had both a compassionate leader and a constant client. Yes, the life in this land was good to him.

"You will have her in stable before the smith has found the edge of the scythe blade," Helmuth called back. "She is very gut," he repeated.

"Very good. Carry on!" and the lord continued on his way, disappearing behind an outcrop of trees whose roots fell to the water from a steep bank above.

Helmuth pulled gently on the bridle to pause the filly's stride. He looked skyward and gauged it time to return to his own stables. Man and horse angled themselves in a circle and headed back the direction they had come.

They now walked into the slight breeze that brushed diagonally across the river. The bay shook her head a few times to clear the tendrils of her mane that had been wind-dropped over her eyes. As was often the case, Helmuth felt pride in her control and demeanor--a beast that would be welcome for any duty and would be held as a valuable asset, not only pleasing her master, but ensuring that her care and upkeep would be the best available, to maintain her value.

[While the rest of you are taking only 30 days, apparently I'm initiating a new tradition of #nanowri3mo.]