The Sleepy One ( beginning 4/5 )

Part 1: Shut up, Malachi
Part 2: Dibs on the Devil
Part 3: The 'Miniature' Division
Part 4: The Sleepy One (you are here)
Part 5: Facing the Devil


This is the second to last instalment of the introduction of the horses to Misty Mountain! Featuring: The Sleepy One! That's Doc. He's a Georgian Grande. I gave him the slightest design change, in that now the white on his face only covers one eye. And now I can't think of anything else to say... so here's the story!

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Horses Present:

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She looked at the big stud's inquiring blue eyes for a moment, and he swished his tail and flicked his ears toward her, as though to tell her "shall we get going?"

"Okay, let's go," she said, starting toward the first stall of row three, which would be his brand new home at Mist Mountain. Much to her surprise, he followed lazily behind her, his heavy hooves clopping rhythmically against the cold, hard floors. This isn't so bad, she thought to herself as she pulled open the stable door; the stallion wandered in of this own accord, and she shut it gently behind him. He snuffled around at the hay for a minute, then sniffed at the open window, and turned back to her, hanging his head out over the door expectantly.

"What?" she asked him, watching his big ears flick about like little radars. He pushed his head toward her and waited expectantly. "I don't get it. What am I supposed to do?" she asked him out loud, petting him on the muzzle for lack of anything better to try.

"Take his halter off," Malachi instructed; her head snapped back -- she hadn't even heard him come in. Which was odd, considering he was leading a very proud-looking dark brown stallion, who seemed to be flaunting the fact that he was bigger than absolutely everyone here. And she'd thought the Sleepy One was big.

"Right. I was just about to do that," she said, examining the cloth harness about his big head. Her fingers ran up and down his head as he waited patiently, neck outstretched. "How do I do that again?"

Malachi let out a disgruntled snort as he shut the stall door behind the big brown horse and walked away. "It's not rocket science," he told her as his fingers automatically found the buckle behind the horse's keen ears and loosened the halter, sliding it off easily. He hung the halter up on a peg and turned away, back to the big brown boy to remove his halter. "Go outside; Chris is unloading the others. There's a mare or two you can bring in," he instructed her.

For once, she didn't argue -- at least she was allowed to help this time, instead of being expelled to the corner -- and headed outside to where Chris had three more horses tied up to the side of the trailer. "Oh! Good! Here, take this one," he told her, handing her the rope to the blonde mare he had been leading down the ramp and out of the trailer. She took the lead rope, far more confident now that she'd done this already once, despite the fact that the mare was the biggest horse she'd seen yet. Chris gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and with a few fluid movements, the other three horses were untied and in-hand, and they began to close the short distance between the caravans and the stable together. Every few seconds, she noticed his eyes darting hungrily back to the trailer where the very angry horse kept yelling at them. She hadn't been let out yet, Marianne had noticed.

"Maybe she's actually a sweetheart," Marianne speculated, leading her horse beside Chris' three toward the stable. "Maybe she's just... not a good traveler."

Chris made a face, scrunching up his nose as though he'd just smelled something horrible. "Hope not," he said, not even a little bit of sarcasm in his voice (for once in his life. She found this terribly disturbing) "Where's the fun in that?"

"Not breaking your skull is fun," Marianne insisted, reaching out to pat the small, spotted mare who walked jovially beside her own; the mare with the curiously dished head -- she knew that breed, because they looked so different from all the others. She was an Arabian. She hadn't known they'd come in 'spots' though.

"P'shaw. Intact heads are over rated. Besides, we've already got this lot, and they're all fine and dandy. Every stable's gotta have a bad apple. Keeps things interesting," he told her giddily, bowing her ahead of him through the nearest set of double doors.