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Description

Okay, be prepared for TEXT WALL.

Warning: Graphic (violent) content in the story!

Today was going to be an interesting day, to say the very least. It had begun with a cat throwing up at the foot of Curtis’s bed - thanks to his nephew, Alex for that. He had a penchant for animals, and had turned their home into a zoo. Or something akin to a zoo, where the animals roamed wild, and barfed on any surface available to them. Maybe Curtis was being too harsh. But still, he carried the black cat out of his room, plunked her on the floor, and patted her. She threw her rump in the air and meowed, in that manner that cats do. Curtis rolled his eyes, shut the bedroom door, and cleaned up the mess. Following this, he headed for the attached bathroom to get his head on straight.

It was always difficult, these days. He never woke up knowing exactly who he’d be. Curtis had been diagnosed, clinically, with DID about a year ago. He’d suspected for many years before, but always brushed it off, making some excuse or another that he couldn’t have such a debilitating disability. Still, it was true, and he fluctuated between who he was. Different personalities resided in his head, and each had their own facets, their own loves and likes and yucks and yums, and everything from top to bottom.

Curtis always thought of himself as the “original” personality, but even that wasn’t true. The alter he most frequently communicated with, Shiloh, was often there in his presence, reminding him that Shiloh had been around ever since he could remember. Not to mention Granger and Liam and all the others who inhabited his brain. Some he’d discovered recently, some had split off with the stress of discovering the disorder (ironically enough) and some had been there all along. It was, to say the very very least, incredibly confusing. But Curtis persevered.

Staring in the mirror, he took in his features. Some days, when Not-Curtis was fronting, he felt like he didn’t recognize his own reflection. But today, it felt right. Red hair, flopping into his eyes. Blue eyes, almost gray…very boring in color, really. Thin lips, under a hooked, Roman nose. Pale skin, wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and mouth. Slender, tall, lithe, with just enough muscle to hoist a saddle onto his horse’s back. Curtis was a rider; that was his career, his passion, his heart. He didn’t know what to do, when he wasn’t sitting in a saddle, or riding bareback through a paddock. It had been an incredibly difficult year. He’d stopped riding altogether, for fear that he’d switch during a ride, and not be able to handle it. Or that one of the Littles would take over, and he’d get thrown and injured or– he stopped himself from the thought pattern, shook his head. No, not time for that.

Mundane time. Grabbing his toothbrush, he avoided the fact that he’d not flossed by arguing he’d done it yesterday. Someone argued that wasn’t good enough. He argued back. Eventually, he ended up flossing too. Then, he washed his face, combed through his rat’s nest of bright red hair, and dressed himself presentably. Deodorant would do; he’d shower tonight after he was done at the barn with the giant, smelly horses.

Curtis dressed himself in a black polo, white breeches, brown boots, and black gloves. It wasn’t that he tried to look like a fashionable horse snob…so much as it was that Alex was a fashionable horse snob, who bought clothes for the whole staff. Staff. Weird, that he was considered an integral part of running the farm, when he’d been curled up in Sondheim’s stall crying his eyes out as a ten-year-old boy not too long ago. That had been the first episode which made him question the possibility that something was wrong. It was a long time ago, but he could remember it with perfect clarity. Odd, for someone who often couldn’t find his keys. There they were, on the hook. Alex must have found them, and placed them there, because Curtis had the worst habit of tossing them wherever, and then cursing up a blue streak when he couldn’t find them in the morning.

Speaking of Alex, the blonde was lounging in the kitchen when Curtis walked in. Without even saying hello, Curtis crossed to the coffee pot. Grabbing a cup, he set it down with a ceramic tink, and filled it to the brim with coffee. He didn’t put any sugar, cream, or…well..anything to make it taste less bitter. Alex always contested this, but Curtis never changed his ways. This morning, the blonde was filing the edges of his acrylic nails, which were sparkly and blue.

“Y’know, you could just stop biting them,” Curtis rumbled, slurping his coffee nonchalantly.

“Y’know, you could mind your business, Old Man,” Alex replied, without looking up. That was their way. They talked to each other in such a manner because they loved one another, not in spite of it. Curtis grinned. “Yeah, yeah,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “Well, I’m going on a trail ride today; wanna go?” Alex looked up. The filing stopped.

“Trail ride?” He seemed intrigued.

“Trail ride. Y’know, with the horse, and the trail, and the riding?” Curtis snarked. Alex sighed, tossing his blonde hair over his shoulder and glancing at Curtis from the corner of his eye.

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hey, I housed you until you were old enough to strike out, and you stuck with me in the horse game,” Curtis reminded Alex. It was true. When Alex’s father had died suddenly of a brain bleed, Curtis had stepped up to parent him and his sibling, Grayson. Grayson had long since fled the family, going her own way, but Alex stuck close to his uncle.

“Yeah, and now the turns have tabled,” Alex said, resuming his filing.

“So, you going on the trail rider or not?”

“Might as well,” he snorted, finished filing now. “I’ll get dressed.” Probably for the best, considering he was wearing a reindeer pajama set, and slippers. Not ideal for riding, especially not in the frigid, Irish winter snow. Curtis nodded, and slurped at his coffee. His stomach hurt. That usually happened when he forgot to eat before slugging down a cup of coffee. So he rummaged through the pantry. Finding a couple of in-date muffins in a two-pack of plastic, Curtis scarfed them down.

Now the question was, who did he want to bring on the trail ride? Valhalla was too flighty, not trained well enough yet. So she wasn’t an option. Rusalka - AKA Rusty - she was fantastic. But she was going to foal soon, so she wasn’t rideable. Sondheim, his beloved bay Sondheim, would be the obvious choice. But Curtis wanted something besides the obvious today. Sondheim had been worked the day before, and deserved some rest. But aha! Why not take a couple of the Zlesdins out? It was beginning to warm up, and the farm had a number of quarter sheets that could be thrown over the hotblooded horses to keep them from getting too chilly. Yes, and Git needed a little bit of socialization. The grullo appaloosa was a fun-loving creature, who enjoyed getting into other horses’ space, so a bit of time to work on his problems would do him well.

Yes, that would do nicely.

Alex returned.

Curtis glanced up, finishing the last dregs of his coffee. He shuddered as he tasted a few of the grounds that had snuck past the filter. Gross. But it was better than the alternative, which was a life of no coffee. Alex was dressed in a blue polo, almost teal, and white breeches. His signature red boots shone in the kitchen light. His hair had been tied up into a french knot, and his nails were all filed to perfection now. Sometimes, Curtis wondered about Alex, and worried about him. But Curtis had female alters, understood how it felt not to feel like you in your body, so he wouldn’t push the issue. Nor would he dream of making his nephew feel ashamed or uncomfortable with how he expressed himself.

“All right, ready to go?” Curtis snapped out of his thoughts. Alex had one hand on his hip, the other holding his gray parka.

“Yeah, let’s,” Curtis said, throwing away the muffin wrappers, and grabbing his coat off the coat rack. At least that - unlike his keys - he put away properly last night. The two of them headed out into the snow. Both had been born in Texas, and lived there for most of their lives. The cold was not something they experienced much, and not something either of them liked. But Ireland’s siren song could not be ignored, despite how damn frigid it got here.

“So, who are we taking?” Alex asked. Clearly he had not been privy to Curtis’s personal internal dialogue about Git. Of course not. That would involve mind reading, and Curtis was pretty sure nobody at Silver Wolf could do that. Curtis was about to say they should take the Zlesdins, when a thought hit him. Sondehim had a show coming up, and would need a little more muscle tone. Not to mention, Alex’s stallion, Sundown, needed a workout as well. And, honestly, as the cold hit him like a truck, he wasn’t sure a quarter sheet would do to keep the hotblooded Zlesdins warm enough.

“How about the Obers?” He suggested. Alex nodded. “Well, Ober/Skaya,” Curtis corrected. Sondheim was an Admiralskaya horse, a Russian-bred Obertaurer with a dark bay coat and minimal sabino markings. Whereas, Sundown was an amber champagne tobiano, with a flashy coat and a personality to match. The two horses were bred for cold weather, and as Curtis glanced towards Sonny’s pasture, he could see the horse running up and down the fenceline. Clearly, Sondheim wanted to get out, and if he had energy to run around the paddock like that, a light hack would do him no harm.

“Deal,” Alex said, grinning. “Sundown needs some loving, not gonna lie,” he laughed softly. “He’d been cooped up on stall rest all last week, remember?” Normally, it would be expected that a stable’s owner knew which horses were lame off the top of their head, but DID came with major memory issues, so Alex was always careful to remind his uncle of anything important. Curtis nodded, remembering in a series of flashbacks, which felt as though they were handed to him by another alter, that Sundown had slid on a patch of ice and was favoring his right rear leg.

“And he’s better this week?” Curtis asked, over the rusty squeaking of the barn door as they rolled it open. That needed oil. Or WD-40. But probably oil.

“He’s great,” Alex assured his uncle, as he flipped the light switch. Above them, the slight buzz of fluorescent lighting could be heard. The horses didn’t seem to mind, although they did raise a cacophony at the idea of breakfast.

“Good,” Curtis said, making a detour to the food room. He started measuring and scooping and prepping. Alex took the buckets of food to each horse, starting with Sondheim and Sundown, so that they’d be done eating by the time it was time to go ride. He didn’t want either horse to colic; like all horses, neither Sonny or Sundown could throw up if they got sick. Instead, they would develop a blockage, which could be deadly. So it was best to be extra careful between feeding and riding.

When every horse had been fed, Alex circled back to Sundown’s stall. The amber champagne stallion was finished with breakfast; he’d been done for a while now. Meanwhile, Curtis was cooing over Sondheim. The bay stud stood stock still, eyes half-lidded with relaxation. He looked like the cat who’d caught the canary. And why shouldn’t he? The reason Curtis couldn’t take Rusalka out today was because she was pregnant with Sondheim’s foal. The sneaky bay bastard had jumped a fence and found the red mare in heat and…well…of course he looked proud of himself. He’d always been intelligent, and now it was just used for evil.

But Curtis loved him nonetheless. And the bay horse was happy to reciprocate, especially if there were horse cookies involved. (There usually were.)

Alex grabbed Sundown’s halter. Leading the stallion towards the grooming area, he was careful to cross-tie him properly. Loose enough he could rest his head, but tight enough he couldn’t trap himself in the ropes, or twist around to bite any other horses that might be passing by. Alex grabbed a rubber curry comb, and took to work. Sundown was covered in winter hair, but thankfully had not started to shed out yet. So it was simply a matter of getting the dust and dirt off his coat. Once he’d finished with the currycomb, Alex chucked it back into the red grooming bucket, and grabbed a dandy brush. He didn’t seem to mind that the crescent of his nails were now dusty underneath; they were to keep him from biting his nails, not for looking too pretty to use. Sundown sighed. He seemed relaxed, leaning into the brushing. Alex grinned, and scratched the stallion’s favorite spot with his nails, just above Sundown’s withers. The champagne stud let out a sigh that rivaled a gust of wind. Alex laughed softly.

Curtis had found Sondheim’s halter - he’d left it in the tack room. Upon returning to the bay stud’s stall, Curtis affixed the halter and led the stallion into the grooming aisle across from Sundown. He mimicked Alex’s motions, first with his own green rubber curry comb, and then a purple and blue bristled dandy brush. By now, Alex was soft brushing the Ober in his corner, to make sure Sundown glittered like the fresh-fallen snow.

Curtis followed suit, gently using the soft brush on Sondheim’s legs and face as well as to smooth his coat out. Once both horses were groomed to perfection - which included picking all four of their feet out and sweeping away the dirt encrusted therein - it was time to tack up. Alex grabbed his usual, lightweight black saddle and bridle set. He slipped the teal blanket onto his horse’s back; it coincidentally matched his shirt. Then, he tossed the saddle up, and affixed it loosely. The last step was to take Sundown’s halter off, and switch his bitless bridle in place. Stepping back, Alex admired his handiwork. Meanwhile, Curtis had finished tacking up Sondheim in his own mint-green blanket, and brown tack. The two horses looked phenomenal.

“We sure do clean up good, don’t we?” Curtis asked. Alex was about to reply that he was covered in horse hair and dirt, when he realized that Curtis was talking to Sondheim.

“Yeah, yeah, just get your butt moving,” Alex laughed, as he grabbed Sundown’s reins, and started for the barn doors. Curtis followed, with Sondheim prancing beside him. The bay stud was clearly excited to get out and about, despite the fact that he had 24/7 access to an actual attached paddock. It wasn’t the same as getting to explore the rest of the world. Curtis couldn’t blame the horse for that.

Once the two of them were outside, Alex and Curtis tightened their girths, and used a nearby stepstool to get on the horses’ backs, so as not to hurt their spines by ground mounting. Not to mention, they were both riding English, and those stirrups were short compared to the fenders on a Western saddle. And Alex was short enough as it was. Curtis, on the other hand, was tall and lanky, but still didn’t want to injure Sondheim’s spine by doing something as stupid as a ground-mount without any assistance.

In a few minutes, both riders were settled into their respective saddles. Curtis was regretting not grabbing that aforementioned quarter sheet, but he didn’t want his horse to overheat. That was the problem with coldbloods like Obers and Skayas; they handled the cold much better than their Southern riders. But Curtis would suffer for his horse’s comfort any day. That was one of his favorite traits about his system as a whole; they all cared about animals.

Curtis sighed, his breath crystalline in the morning air. Alex glanced back, raising a brow at his uncle. Curtis shook his head. Nothing to be concerned about, just his inner monologue. Or dialogue, as the case may be. Sondheim snorted, and Curtis patted the stallion’s neck, not sure what else to do to soothe him. Usually, Sonny was a delight to have on a trail, but today he seemed…different. Could it be that Curtis’s thoughts were affecting him? No. Sondheim was far used to Curtis’s switches by now, and Curtis was able to handle them much better these days. So something outside the rider’s scope was causing the horse discomfort. Curtis frowned.

Something at the edge of the woods flitted past. A bird, maybe? Or a deer. It was too big to be a bird, unless giant animals were coming back as a thing. Sondheim stopped short, almost jarring Curtis from the saddle.

“Something’s wrong.” Alex’s words cut like a knife. As Sundown danced, Curtis could tell that something was, indeed, very wrong. Curtis’s stomach sank. Whatever was out in those woods, it wasn’t a deer.

There was a sudden, bone-chilling scream from above them. Curtis would have thought it an injured person, if it had not dropped from the trees, landing squarely on Alex’s back. It dragged him off Sundown’s back and into the snow. A wild cat! A jaguar was attacking Alex. There was more screaming, this time very much human. Sundown let out a panicked wail, whipping himself around to face the beast. But he couldn’t attack it without also risking his human, so he hesitated. Curtis was frozen, as Sondheim reared up, trying to fight off the cat for himself. Finally, in what seemed like hours, the horse’s hooves slammed back to earth, jarring Curtis from his stupor. It had been maybe half a second, but already the snow was stained with blood, and Curtis’s heart jerked. Granger, the most aggressive of his alters, shot to front. Curtis was shoved back into his own mind, as Granger reached for the M1911 that Curtis always kept strapped to his hip. The same problem persisted: Alex was under the cat, and fighting for his damn life. Which meant he was wriggling this way and that. And the cat was not an easy target.

But if Curtis/Granger didn’t do something soon, his nephew would be a goner. Already, there was a pool of blood around them, and Curtis shuddered inwardly. Granger lowered the sidearm, and aimed. He let his breath out slow, hoping that Sondheim would remain still long enough for him to squeeze off a shot. The bay stallion was good. Until the shot echoed through the snowy hollow. He jerked to the side, screaming in fright. Granger had never heard the horse make that noise before, but he supposed it only made sense.

The cat let out a yowl, and darted away, its side already stained with dark red. Curtis yanked control of the body back from Granger, scrambling down from Sondheim and tying the horse quickly to a limb. His hands shook, but he managed to create a slip release knot as quickly as his shivering fingers would let him.

“ALEX!” His tone was panicked, and Sundown jumped at the sound. Curtis slid to his knees in the snow, not minding the way his white breeches were quickly stained with blood. “Stay with me; stay with me,” Curtis begged, applying pressure to the worst of the lacerations. With one hand, he tried to staunch the bleeding, while he called for help with the other. Alex’s eyelids fluttered, but he fought to stay conscious nonetheless. Sundown stood by, not willing to leave his rider. Sondheim wouldn’t have run, even if he hadn’t been tied, but he had no choice in the matter. The two horses were solid, real, and the only thing grounding Curtis as he fought to keep his nephew breathing. The seconds ticked by like hours. Would they make it out of this? All of them? He had no idea; he was terrified. And no one was there, but his headmates, to help him.

Description

Okay, be prepared for TEXT WALL.

Warning: Graphic (violent) content in the story!

Today was going to be an interesting day, to say the very least. It had begun with a cat throwing up at the foot of Curtis’s bed - thanks to his nephew, Alex for that. He had a penchant for animals, and had turned their home into a zoo. Or something akin to a zoo, where the animals roamed wild, and barfed on any surface available to them. Maybe Curtis was being too harsh. But still, he carried the black cat out of his room, plunked her on the floor, and patted her. She threw her rump in the air and meowed, in that manner that cats do. Curtis rolled his eyes, shut the bedroom door, and cleaned up the mess. Following this, he headed for the attached bathroom to get his head on straight.

It was always difficult, these days. He never woke up knowing exactly who he’d be. Curtis had been diagnosed, clinically, with DID about a year ago. He’d suspected for many years before, but always brushed it off, making some excuse or another that he couldn’t have such a debilitating disability. Still, it was true, and he fluctuated between who he was. Different personalities resided in his head, and each had their own facets, their own loves and likes and yucks and yums, and everything from top to bottom.

Curtis always thought of himself as the “original” personality, but even that wasn’t true. The alter he most frequently communicated with, Shiloh, was often there in his presence, reminding him that Shiloh had been around ever since he could remember. Not to mention Granger and Liam and all the others who inhabited his brain. Some he’d discovered recently, some had split off with the stress of discovering the disorder (ironically enough) and some had been there all along. It was, to say the very very least, incredibly confusing. But Curtis persevered.

Staring in the mirror, he took in his features. Some days, when Not-Curtis was fronting, he felt like he didn’t recognize his own reflection. But today, it felt right. Red hair, flopping into his eyes. Blue eyes, almost gray…very boring in color, really. Thin lips, under a hooked, Roman nose. Pale skin, wrinkles at the corners of the eyes and mouth. Slender, tall, lithe, with just enough muscle to hoist a saddle onto his horse’s back. Curtis was a rider; that was his career, his passion, his heart. He didn’t know what to do, when he wasn’t sitting in a saddle, or riding bareback through a paddock. It had been an incredibly difficult year. He’d stopped riding altogether, for fear that he’d switch during a ride, and not be able to handle it. Or that one of the Littles would take over, and he’d get thrown and injured or– he stopped himself from the thought pattern, shook his head. No, not time for that.

Mundane time. Grabbing his toothbrush, he avoided the fact that he’d not flossed by arguing he’d done it yesterday. Someone argued that wasn’t good enough. He argued back. Eventually, he ended up flossing too. Then, he washed his face, combed through his rat’s nest of bright red hair, and dressed himself presentably. Deodorant would do; he’d shower tonight after he was done at the barn with the giant, smelly horses.

Curtis dressed himself in a black polo, white breeches, brown boots, and black gloves. It wasn’t that he tried to look like a fashionable horse snob…so much as it was that Alex was a fashionable horse snob, who bought clothes for the whole staff. Staff. Weird, that he was considered an integral part of running the farm, when he’d been curled up in Sondheim’s stall crying his eyes out as a ten-year-old boy not too long ago. That had been the first episode which made him question the possibility that something was wrong. It was a long time ago, but he could remember it with perfect clarity. Odd, for someone who often couldn’t find his keys. There they were, on the hook. Alex must have found them, and placed them there, because Curtis had the worst habit of tossing them wherever, and then cursing up a blue streak when he couldn’t find them in the morning.

Speaking of Alex, the blonde was lounging in the kitchen when Curtis walked in. Without even saying hello, Curtis crossed to the coffee pot. Grabbing a cup, he set it down with a ceramic tink, and filled it to the brim with coffee. He didn’t put any sugar, cream, or…well..anything to make it taste less bitter. Alex always contested this, but Curtis never changed his ways. This morning, the blonde was filing the edges of his acrylic nails, which were sparkly and blue.

“Y’know, you could just stop biting them,” Curtis rumbled, slurping his coffee nonchalantly.

“Y’know, you could mind your business, Old Man,” Alex replied, without looking up. That was their way. They talked to each other in such a manner because they loved one another, not in spite of it. Curtis grinned. “Yeah, yeah,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “Well, I’m going on a trail ride today; wanna go?” Alex looked up. The filing stopped.

“Trail ride?” He seemed intrigued.

“Trail ride. Y’know, with the horse, and the trail, and the riding?” Curtis snarked. Alex sighed, tossing his blonde hair over his shoulder and glancing at Curtis from the corner of his eye.

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hey, I housed you until you were old enough to strike out, and you stuck with me in the horse game,” Curtis reminded Alex. It was true. When Alex’s father had died suddenly of a brain bleed, Curtis had stepped up to parent him and his sibling, Grayson. Grayson had long since fled the family, going her own way, but Alex stuck close to his uncle.

“Yeah, and now the turns have tabled,” Alex said, resuming his filing.

“So, you going on the trail rider or not?”

“Might as well,” he snorted, finished filing now. “I’ll get dressed.” Probably for the best, considering he was wearing a reindeer pajama set, and slippers. Not ideal for riding, especially not in the frigid, Irish winter snow. Curtis nodded, and slurped at his coffee. His stomach hurt. That usually happened when he forgot to eat before slugging down a cup of coffee. So he rummaged through the pantry. Finding a couple of in-date muffins in a two-pack of plastic, Curtis scarfed them down.

Now the question was, who did he want to bring on the trail ride? Valhalla was too flighty, not trained well enough yet. So she wasn’t an option. Rusalka - AKA Rusty - she was fantastic. But she was going to foal soon, so she wasn’t rideable. Sondheim, his beloved bay Sondheim, would be the obvious choice. But Curtis wanted something besides the obvious today. Sondheim had been worked the day before, and deserved some rest. But aha! Why not take a couple of the Zlesdins out? It was beginning to warm up, and the farm had a number of quarter sheets that could be thrown over the hotblooded horses to keep them from getting too chilly. Yes, and Git needed a little bit of socialization. The grullo appaloosa was a fun-loving creature, who enjoyed getting into other horses’ space, so a bit of time to work on his problems would do him well.

Yes, that would do nicely.

Alex returned.

Curtis glanced up, finishing the last dregs of his coffee. He shuddered as he tasted a few of the grounds that had snuck past the filter. Gross. But it was better than the alternative, which was a life of no coffee. Alex was dressed in a blue polo, almost teal, and white breeches. His signature red boots shone in the kitchen light. His hair had been tied up into a french knot, and his nails were all filed to perfection now. Sometimes, Curtis wondered about Alex, and worried about him. But Curtis had female alters, understood how it felt not to feel like you in your body, so he wouldn’t push the issue. Nor would he dream of making his nephew feel ashamed or uncomfortable with how he expressed himself.

“All right, ready to go?” Curtis snapped out of his thoughts. Alex had one hand on his hip, the other holding his gray parka.

“Yeah, let’s,” Curtis said, throwing away the muffin wrappers, and grabbing his coat off the coat rack. At least that - unlike his keys - he put away properly last night. The two of them headed out into the snow. Both had been born in Texas, and lived there for most of their lives. The cold was not something they experienced much, and not something either of them liked. But Ireland’s siren song could not be ignored, despite how damn frigid it got here.

“So, who are we taking?” Alex asked. Clearly he had not been privy to Curtis’s personal internal dialogue about Git. Of course not. That would involve mind reading, and Curtis was pretty sure nobody at Silver Wolf could do that. Curtis was about to say they should take the Zlesdins, when a thought hit him. Sondehim had a show coming up, and would need a little more muscle tone. Not to mention, Alex’s stallion, Sundown, needed a workout as well. And, honestly, as the cold hit him like a truck, he wasn’t sure a quarter sheet would do to keep the hotblooded Zlesdins warm enough.

“How about the Obers?” He suggested. Alex nodded. “Well, Ober/Skaya,” Curtis corrected. Sondheim was an Admiralskaya horse, a Russian-bred Obertaurer with a dark bay coat and minimal sabino markings. Whereas, Sundown was an amber champagne tobiano, with a flashy coat and a personality to match. The two horses were bred for cold weather, and as Curtis glanced towards Sonny’s pasture, he could see the horse running up and down the fenceline. Clearly, Sondheim wanted to get out, and if he had energy to run around the paddock like that, a light hack would do him no harm.

“Deal,” Alex said, grinning. “Sundown needs some loving, not gonna lie,” he laughed softly. “He’d been cooped up on stall rest all last week, remember?” Normally, it would be expected that a stable’s owner knew which horses were lame off the top of their head, but DID came with major memory issues, so Alex was always careful to remind his uncle of anything important. Curtis nodded, remembering in a series of flashbacks, which felt as though they were handed to him by another alter, that Sundown had slid on a patch of ice and was favoring his right rear leg.

“And he’s better this week?” Curtis asked, over the rusty squeaking of the barn door as they rolled it open. That needed oil. Or WD-40. But probably oil.

“He’s great,” Alex assured his uncle, as he flipped the light switch. Above them, the slight buzz of fluorescent lighting could be heard. The horses didn’t seem to mind, although they did raise a cacophony at the idea of breakfast.

“Good,” Curtis said, making a detour to the food room. He started measuring and scooping and prepping. Alex took the buckets of food to each horse, starting with Sondheim and Sundown, so that they’d be done eating by the time it was time to go ride. He didn’t want either horse to colic; like all horses, neither Sonny or Sundown could throw up if they got sick. Instead, they would develop a blockage, which could be deadly. So it was best to be extra careful between feeding and riding.

When every horse had been fed, Alex circled back to Sundown’s stall. The amber champagne stallion was finished with breakfast; he’d been done for a while now. Meanwhile, Curtis was cooing over Sondheim. The bay stud stood stock still, eyes half-lidded with relaxation. He looked like the cat who’d caught the canary. And why shouldn’t he? The reason Curtis couldn’t take Rusalka out today was because she was pregnant with Sondheim’s foal. The sneaky bay bastard had jumped a fence and found the red mare in heat and…well…of course he looked proud of himself. He’d always been intelligent, and now it was just used for evil.

But Curtis loved him nonetheless. And the bay horse was happy to reciprocate, especially if there were horse cookies involved. (There usually were.)

Alex grabbed Sundown’s halter. Leading the stallion towards the grooming area, he was careful to cross-tie him properly. Loose enough he could rest his head, but tight enough he couldn’t trap himself in the ropes, or twist around to bite any other horses that might be passing by. Alex grabbed a rubber curry comb, and took to work. Sundown was covered in winter hair, but thankfully had not started to shed out yet. So it was simply a matter of getting the dust and dirt off his coat. Once he’d finished with the currycomb, Alex chucked it back into the red grooming bucket, and grabbed a dandy brush. He didn’t seem to mind that the crescent of his nails were now dusty underneath; they were to keep him from biting his nails, not for looking too pretty to use. Sundown sighed. He seemed relaxed, leaning into the brushing. Alex grinned, and scratched the stallion’s favorite spot with his nails, just above Sundown’s withers. The champagne stud let out a sigh that rivaled a gust of wind. Alex laughed softly.

Curtis had found Sondheim’s halter - he’d left it in the tack room. Upon returning to the bay stud’s stall, Curtis affixed the halter and led the stallion into the grooming aisle across from Sundown. He mimicked Alex’s motions, first with his own green rubber curry comb, and then a purple and blue bristled dandy brush. By now, Alex was soft brushing the Ober in his corner, to make sure Sundown glittered like the fresh-fallen snow.

Curtis followed suit, gently using the soft brush on Sondheim’s legs and face as well as to smooth his coat out. Once both horses were groomed to perfection - which included picking all four of their feet out and sweeping away the dirt encrusted therein - it was time to tack up. Alex grabbed his usual, lightweight black saddle and bridle set. He slipped the teal blanket onto his horse’s back; it coincidentally matched his shirt. Then, he tossed the saddle up, and affixed it loosely. The last step was to take Sundown’s halter off, and switch his bitless bridle in place. Stepping back, Alex admired his handiwork. Meanwhile, Curtis had finished tacking up Sondheim in his own mint-green blanket, and brown tack. The two horses looked phenomenal.

“We sure do clean up good, don’t we?” Curtis asked. Alex was about to reply that he was covered in horse hair and dirt, when he realized that Curtis was talking to Sondheim.

“Yeah, yeah, just get your butt moving,” Alex laughed, as he grabbed Sundown’s reins, and started for the barn doors. Curtis followed, with Sondheim prancing beside him. The bay stud was clearly excited to get out and about, despite the fact that he had 24/7 access to an actual attached paddock. It wasn’t the same as getting to explore the rest of the world. Curtis couldn’t blame the horse for that.

Once the two of them were outside, Alex and Curtis tightened their girths, and used a nearby stepstool to get on the horses’ backs, so as not to hurt their spines by ground mounting. Not to mention, they were both riding English, and those stirrups were short compared to the fenders on a Western saddle. And Alex was short enough as it was. Curtis, on the other hand, was tall and lanky, but still didn’t want to injure Sondheim’s spine by doing something as stupid as a ground-mount without any assistance.

In a few minutes, both riders were settled into their respective saddles. Curtis was regretting not grabbing that aforementioned quarter sheet, but he didn’t want his horse to overheat. That was the problem with coldbloods like Obers and Skayas; they handled the cold much better than their Southern riders. But Curtis would suffer for his horse’s comfort any day. That was one of his favorite traits about his system as a whole; they all cared about animals.

Curtis sighed, his breath crystalline in the morning air. Alex glanced back, raising a brow at his uncle. Curtis shook his head. Nothing to be concerned about, just his inner monologue. Or dialogue, as the case may be. Sondheim snorted, and Curtis patted the stallion’s neck, not sure what else to do to soothe him. Usually, Sonny was a delight to have on a trail, but today he seemed…different. Could it be that Curtis’s thoughts were affecting him? No. Sondheim was far used to Curtis’s switches by now, and Curtis was able to handle them much better these days. So something outside the rider’s scope was causing the horse discomfort. Curtis frowned.

Something at the edge of the woods flitted past. A bird, maybe? Or a deer. It was too big to be a bird, unless giant animals were coming back as a thing. Sondheim stopped short, almost jarring Curtis from the saddle.

“Something’s wrong.” Alex’s words cut like a knife. As Sundown danced, Curtis could tell that something was, indeed, very wrong. Curtis’s stomach sank. Whatever was out in those woods, it wasn’t a deer.

There was a sudden, bone-chilling scream from above them. Curtis would have thought it an injured person, if it had not dropped from the trees, landing squarely on Alex’s back. It dragged him off Sundown’s back and into the snow. A wild cat! A jaguar was attacking Alex. There was more screaming, this time very much human. Sundown let out a panicked wail, whipping himself around to face the beast. But he couldn’t attack it without also risking his human, so he hesitated. Curtis was frozen, as Sondheim reared up, trying to fight off the cat for himself. Finally, in what seemed like hours, the horse’s hooves slammed back to earth, jarring Curtis from his stupor. It had been maybe half a second, but already the snow was stained with blood, and Curtis’s heart jerked. Granger, the most aggressive of his alters, shot to front. Curtis was shoved back into his own mind, as Granger reached for the M1911 that Curtis always kept strapped to his hip. The same problem persisted: Alex was under the cat, and fighting for his damn life. Which meant he was wriggling this way and that. And the cat was not an easy target.

But if Curtis/Granger didn’t do something soon, his nephew would be a goner. Already, there was a pool of blood around them, and Curtis shuddered inwardly. Granger lowered the sidearm, and aimed. He let his breath out slow, hoping that Sondheim would remain still long enough for him to squeeze off a shot. The bay stallion was good. Until the shot echoed through the snowy hollow. He jerked to the side, screaming in fright. Granger had never heard the horse make that noise before, but he supposed it only made sense.

The cat let out a yowl, and darted away, its side already stained with dark red. Curtis yanked control of the body back from Granger, scrambling down from Sondheim and tying the horse quickly to a limb. His hands shook, but he managed to create a slip release knot as quickly as his shivering fingers would let him.

“ALEX!” His tone was panicked, and Sundown jumped at the sound. Curtis slid to his knees in the snow, not minding the way his white breeches were quickly stained with blood. “Stay with me; stay with me,” Curtis begged, applying pressure to the worst of the lacerations. With one hand, he tried to staunch the bleeding, while he called for help with the other. Alex’s eyelids fluttered, but he fought to stay conscious nonetheless. Sundown stood by, not willing to leave his rider. Sondheim wouldn’t have run, even if he hadn’t been tied, but he had no choice in the matter. The two horses were solid, real, and the only thing grounding Curtis as he fought to keep his nephew breathing. The seconds ticked by like hours. Would they make it out of this? All of them? He had no idea; he was terrified. And no one was there, but his headmates, to help him.