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Description
It was her fault.

The air was chilly, and she was glad of her sweater. The forests
which sprawled beyond Falkengård's limits were green as ever, but
winter was not far off. Sooner or later, snow would dust the pastures
and the horses would be spending their nights indoors. Bomb did that
anyway; he had been cleared by the vet to spend an hour a day
out in his paddock, but it would be at least several more weeks before
they could even consider riding him again, and months before he
would be fit for any heavier training.

If he ever reached that stage at all... a while ago, it had seemed
as if he was ready to progress. His limp had diminished almost entirely.
But then the leg began swelling again, and for several days the
stallion could hardly walk at all. His condition swung back and forth,
a pendulum between hope and despair. Good days, when he ate his
hay and put weight on his leg without reacting, and bad days when
the vet looked grim and reminded Anna about his needles.

Her fault.

Leaning against the fence, Anna eased some weight off her own
injured leg. The ache was ever-present from hip to knee, intensified
by guilt whenever she thought of the dark stallion. He had lost a lot
of weight over the months that had passed, and shifted between
being passively docile and being irritated and restless. Though his
little paddock sessions seemed to cheer him up a bit, after a couple hours
he was clearly tired and ready to go inside. Bomb stood beside her, nibbling
listlessly at her pocket in search of treats before giving up and
resting his head sleepily against her ribs. "Just a minute, boy," Anna
murmured, scratching his ear absent-mindedly. It was only five o'clock,
but the sun was already beginning to dip beneath the horizon,
lending a rosy glow to the sky. With every passing day, the darkness
tightened its grip on the land, becoming an endless inky nighttime
to isolate her with her thoughts until it drained her of the energy to
even think them. What was she going to do with herself? A cripple
and a screw-up; not only hurting herself, but hurting her horse in
the process. She could live with her injury, it was her own damn
fault, but what if Bomb didn't get better? How long was it acceptable
to wait for him to heal? Months? Years? When did it become
inhumane to let him suffer, caged up in a box, in pain, in the vague
hope that he would be back to his jolly old self someday?
What if this was all an exercise in futility- what if she was slowly
killing her own horse-

Anna reached out and wrapped her fingers tightly in Bomb's mane,
steadying herself as panic welled up in her chest and made her dizzy.
"It'll be okay," she whispered to herself. "It'll be okay. Right boy?"

Bomb flicked an ear, lifting his head a fraction as he shifted his weight.
"Let's just... let's just go inside. Some hay and a bedtime carrot,
and we'll just see what morning brings," Anna said, patting the stud's
neck. She didn't know what their futures looked like. Perhaps everything
would go back to normal and life would be fantastic.

If not, it was her fault.

-----------------------------------

No refs used.

I am a little bit proud of this.

Hopefully someone still remembers Bomb.

And, if not....
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First: fav.me/d4xkkjz
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Description
It was her fault.

The air was chilly, and she was glad of her sweater. The forests
which sprawled beyond Falkengård's limits were green as ever, but
winter was not far off. Sooner or later, snow would dust the pastures
and the horses would be spending their nights indoors. Bomb did that
anyway; he had been cleared by the vet to spend an hour a day
out in his paddock, but it would be at least several more weeks before
they could even consider riding him again, and months before he
would be fit for any heavier training.

If he ever reached that stage at all... a while ago, it had seemed
as if he was ready to progress. His limp had diminished almost entirely.
But then the leg began swelling again, and for several days the
stallion could hardly walk at all. His condition swung back and forth,
a pendulum between hope and despair. Good days, when he ate his
hay and put weight on his leg without reacting, and bad days when
the vet looked grim and reminded Anna about his needles.

Her fault.

Leaning against the fence, Anna eased some weight off her own
injured leg. The ache was ever-present from hip to knee, intensified
by guilt whenever she thought of the dark stallion. He had lost a lot
of weight over the months that had passed, and shifted between
being passively docile and being irritated and restless. Though his
little paddock sessions seemed to cheer him up a bit, after a couple hours
he was clearly tired and ready to go inside. Bomb stood beside her, nibbling
listlessly at her pocket in search of treats before giving up and
resting his head sleepily against her ribs. "Just a minute, boy," Anna
murmured, scratching his ear absent-mindedly. It was only five o'clock,
but the sun was already beginning to dip beneath the horizon,
lending a rosy glow to the sky. With every passing day, the darkness
tightened its grip on the land, becoming an endless inky nighttime
to isolate her with her thoughts until it drained her of the energy to
even think them. What was she going to do with herself? A cripple
and a screw-up; not only hurting herself, but hurting her horse in
the process. She could live with her injury, it was her own damn
fault, but what if Bomb didn't get better? How long was it acceptable
to wait for him to heal? Months? Years? When did it become
inhumane to let him suffer, caged up in a box, in pain, in the vague
hope that he would be back to his jolly old self someday?
What if this was all an exercise in futility- what if she was slowly
killing her own horse-

Anna reached out and wrapped her fingers tightly in Bomb's mane,
steadying herself as panic welled up in her chest and made her dizzy.
"It'll be okay," she whispered to herself. "It'll be okay. Right boy?"

Bomb flicked an ear, lifting his head a fraction as he shifted his weight.
"Let's just... let's just go inside. Some hay and a bedtime carrot,
and we'll just see what morning brings," Anna said, patting the stud's
neck. She didn't know what their futures looked like. Perhaps everything
would go back to normal and life would be fantastic.

If not, it was her fault.

-----------------------------------

No refs used.

I am a little bit proud of this.

Hopefully someone still remembers Bomb.

And, if not....
Previous: fav.me/d4z52kx
First: fav.me/d4xkkjz
Next:: [link]