Euphemistically Yours

In the end, Grit decided that Eu’s naming choice fit the personality of his new horse. However, “I Eat Hands” was too long, so he shortened it down to “HandEater.”

That still wasn’t a typical name for a horse, but at this point, I didn’t care. In fact, considering we counted age in hands, the name “HandEater” had additional connotations. In other words, by preference, this horse would devour five-year-old children. An awful name, but looking at the beast, I couldn’t deny it.

In the meantime, the stablehands had helped Eu to mount up on NeedMoreCandy. Despite her demands, we’d shortened that name by one word. Even now, they were leading her around in a pen while Eu learned the basics as a rider. Luckily, she’d already had some experience with Honey, so she wasn’t unfamiliar with the idea.

In contrast, Grit had yet to mount up on HandEater. The stablehands had put a muzzle over the pony's mouth to prevent bites. After all, a horse had a stronger bite than even a war dog. A full-size warhorse could amputate fingers, break bones, or even tear flesh despite light armor.

Fortunately, HandEater had exchanged his outright aggression for more passive methods of resistance. Whenever Grit got too close, HandEater would snort and turn to face him. Unable to get alongside the pony, Grit couldn’t mount into the saddle.

In contrast, seeing how quickly Eu and NeedMoreCandy had become attached, the owner authorized us to leave here with our new horses today. He trusted me to bring back my mules as payment tomorrow. After all, if I didn’t, stealing a horse was a crime punishable by death.

Unfortunately, HandEater still remained as an obstacle to that plan. The stablehands tried to help by bringing out a mounting block, which just embarrassed Grit further. In fact, when Grit stood on the block, HandEater would stamp back and forth, driving him even further away.

Eventually, I gave the owner a dark look, “If we can’t ride him, he’s not a horse.”

He just shrugged, “I told you that he was the bottom of the barrel. But if you have something else to trade, we could renegotiate for a different animal.”

I was stuck with my decision. We didn’t have the money to buy a better horse and I certainly couldn’t trade my land or property that had been given to me by the Duke. I couldn't even use that as collateral. Not that it mattered. I knew better than to make a loan. The interest rates were tantamount to usury. That’s how good families ended up as serfs.

After a while, the owner called over one of the most experienced stablehands and asked him to mount up instead of Grit. In response, the old hand took a look at HandEater and shook his head. “I may be old, but I’m not ready to die yet.”

“There’s got to be someone here who’s ridden him before!” The owner complained. “I don’t keep useless horses!”

In response, the horse marshal we’d been speaking to in the stables stepped forward to speak. “Owner, if I may? This pony was never a riding horse. He’s a stud - kept for breeding. Some of our larger ponies come from his line. If it wasn’t for that, he would have been put down already - or at least gelded.”

“Why was he offered for sale then?” Apparently, the owner couldn’t keep up with all his horses.

“He’s umm…” The marshal shuffled his feet, but then looking around, and seeing no women present, he continued, “he’s having some … difficulty now that he’s older.”

Luckily, Eu was out of earshot or I’m sure she’d want to investigate exactly what sort of “difficulty” the man meant - and probably learn some new and awful words.

In response, the owner scratched at his large sideburns, “If he’s not working as a stud anymore, then we don’t need to keep him. I suppose selling him off makes sense then.”

“But, nobody has ever ridden him before?” I asked the question.

The staff murmured to one another, but nobody seemed to know for sure. This was the worst of outcomes. It could take days, weeks, or months to gain the trust of an unwilling horse. The only alternative was to break their spirits, forcing them to your will, which wasn’t even close to ideal. The outcome would be either a broken horse or a horse that was serving out of fear and hatred.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much choice. I sighed aloud, “I suppose, if someone’s going to risk their life, it should be me. I have plenty of experience with aggressive horses. Besides, I’m wearing armor.”

After steeling myself, I stepped towards HandEater, who glared at me. We needed a horse that could be ridden, so I was going to ride him. Considering he was half the weight of Honey, he couldn’t really intimidate me. Furthermore, he wasn’t trained in battle, so I should be able to guess whatever he was going to do.

“Father! It should be me!” Grit tried to dissuade me from my goal, but I held up a hand to stop him.

“No, I chose this horse, I’ll have to make it work. But, if I can ride him, you’ll be next, so get ready.”

I could see the disappointment and shame that filled Grit’s expression. Obviously, he felt that he’d failed somehow. But, if anything, it was the opposite. I’d failed him. Grit wasn’t even old enough to be considered an adult, yet I’d thrown this awful horse his way. This whole situation was my fault.

The stablehands kept a tight grip on HandEater’s lines as I offered my hand for him to smell. He was still wearing the restraint, so he couldn’t bite me. Instead, he batted my hand away with the leather strapping of his muzzle.

Avoiding his stamping feet, I moved up beside him and put a hand on the saddle. Instead of shying away, he pressed aggressively towards me, but I’d expected that. Using the solid force of his push, I climbed up on top and settled myself into the saddle.

I wasn’t sure what would happen next. I’d heard of horses that would roll over on top of their rider - a practical death sentence. Even if you weren’t crushed and didn’t break your neck, if it mangled an arm or a leg, medical care was chancy at best. If a horse tried something like that, your best option was leaping free as fast you could.

Instead of an immediate response, HandEater shivered underneath me. I knew, with my armor, I was heavier than what he’d be expected to carry. But that wasn’t the reason. He was thinking, planning his next move. I’d have to be careful!

The stablehands held him still with the rope lines tied to the saddle from all sides. However, this wasn’t the most dangerous moment. Eventually, if I was going to actually ride this monster, I'd have let him loose to run. At that point, it would be just me versus him - and he was a lot bigger and stronger.

The owner gave me a strange look as I double-checked all the straps and got a firm grip onto the saddle. Apparently, he'd expected me to get back off again?

Once I was ready, I gave the order. “Let us free into the paddock. Let’s see what he can do.”

There was some reluctance. I suppose the men were afraid that if HandEater killed me, they’d be blamed? But, there were plenty of witnesses. I’d asked for this!

Just so, it was time to see just what I’d asked for…