Another beautifully realised commission from the very friendly and highly talented artist  Misssinclair

I had asked MissSinclair to draw my character Steppenfire in Feral form, emphasising the features that are characteristic for Friesian stallions:
a strong and muscular build with a short, strong back and broad chest...
a curved, strong neck
a straight nose line
a long, thick mane and black fur

Although it was not my intention, the picture triggered a certain melancholy in me, which I ultimately had to put in a short little story...

~~~~

The sun had just risen when the old man opened the stable door. His hands trembled as he looked at the big black stallion, who calmly eyed him with his deep, knowing eyes. "My boy" he whispered softly "you are free now..."
The farm, once full of life, had become quiet, and the man knew that he could no longer offer his faithful companion a home... His own time was coming to an end and there was no one left to whom he could leave his legacy.

Steppenfire went out into the cold winter morning... surrounded by familiar smells, sounds and images... even the open gate wasn't a foreign sight to him.
With a final pat on the Friesian's powerful neck, the old man finally urged the stallion to move... With another stroke on his flank and flailing arms, he showed him that he had to go... until Steppenfire trotted out onto the snowy plain.

The wind carried the scent of freedom to Steppenfire, but he hesitated...

With a last look and a deep snort, he looked back at the place that had been his home... the old stable building he knew inside out... the memories of warm summer nights... the voice of the man who had taught him to trust, and the soft hand that stroked his forehead – all these images returned for a moment and yet seemed as fleeting as the white breath of his nostrils, carried away by the cold wind...
Steppenfire knew he had to go. His instincts drove him out into the wilderness, the endless expanse... but there was also gratitude and concern in his eyes for the old man who had taken care of him for so long.

The old man, who was still watching him, nodded silently, tears glistening in his tired eyes. "Farewell, my boy..." he whispered "and go where the wind takes you"

Then Steppenfire turned away for good. His muscular legs carried him safely through the snow, his braided mane blew like a black stream in the wind.
Freedom was the last gift of the old man... and he would honour it by following the call of life.

(by Steppenfire)

Mood: E.S. Posthumus - Isfahan