the darkest nights produce the brightest stars
This was not easy for Fennick, but he tried to keep a stoic look on his face. He was determined not to shame himself or his home. Still, he found he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to go into the middle of the field. You know, where most of the other horses were.
As it was he loitered about the edges, trying to think up some kind of inspiring speech. Fennick was quite sure he had never been inspiring in his life. He was more certain that should he ever inspire anyone it would be from a distance when they had mistook him for someone else. For a brief moment he imagined himself on the battle field, a defeated enemy before him.
That was inspiring.
He was not blood thirsty, not even by half. But he knew his own body, and he knew how to use it. So far, the only useful thing he could do with it in the service of a kingdom was in battle. Either as a sword in the dark or the shield against the night. He wasn’t picky which. He wasn’t a glory hound, but he did, desperately, want to be useful. He wanted to prove that he wasn’t some fumbling fool they barely tolerated.
That’s why he was here, to try and find someone who didn’t seem like such a fool. Every time they said something clever it would reflect well on Fennick, for he had been the means of delivering them.
He hadn’t made up his mind to approach anyone until he broke though a copse of trees and saw a girl. She was impossible to miss, red like sunset with her mane in her face. Fennick’s mouth popped open a little and he stared. It had been an awkwardly long time by the time he realized he was still staring.
This was it. He should go up to her.
Slowly, too slowly, like a wolf might approach a deer, Fennick crept up. His bulk alone assured that his approach would not be stealthy. He stepped on leaves, cracked twigs and branches bent before him. Finally he was before her, right in front of her, and still he had said nothing.
”Fennick” He blurted his name out like a swear word. Inside his gut twisted. Damn it that was a dumb way to introduce himself. He tried again.
“I’m Fennick…” Another long pause.
“Who are you? That is, may I ask your name?” Bloody brilliant. He was just a god damn poet. Mares would compose love songs in his honor. Any day now, just any one of these days, they would write sonnets for him.