Spirit Stallion Horse Novels & Stories

“You would stop me from petting a horse?” “Nay,” he sighed and leaned against the stall as if resigned to letting her stay where she was. “You may pet any horse, but I would offer you any horse you take a fancy to, to keep as your own, so long as it either has no owner, or its owner is looking to sell it. This animal is a bit too wild to be my preference, but my main objection is that he has an owner who loves him dearly. Are you missing a horse of your own that is in Sinclair stables?” “Not truly. I usually rode the same one, a black mare named Oidhche fit me well, but I miss me falcons more than the horses.”

Yet, a nagging doubt gnawed at my gut, serving as a constant reminder of the risk I had undertaken. I needed a distraction, something to calm my nerves and ease my mind. I decided to go for a ride on my horse, Zion, my loyal and faithful companion. He was a magnificent stallion, with a glossy black coat and a fiery spirit. He always sensed my mood and matched it with his own, whether it was playful, adventurous, or serene.

The stables were nestled at the far edge of the palace grounds, where wild flowers met the forest, and the scent of hay, sweat, and horses lingered thick in the air. Athena entered the stables, with a broom in her hand. She had never worked here before. The horses were enormous. Powerful war beast. Bred for royalty. Most were wild blooded, trained only by Elite handlers. Her eyes landed on one in particular—a black stallion, his coat gleaming like midnight silk. He stood apart from the others, nostrils flaring, eyes proud and watchful. They called his Onyx. And he belonged to the prince. He had been with the prince ever since he was little. They had a strong connection. The prince took him t

She swallowed and obediently rose to follow the handmaiden to the next stall. A smaller brownish horse pranced eagerly within. In his stall positioned across from the racehorse, he had a front-row seat to the sexual antics that had just occurred. His excitement at being next had his heart racing. He lashed his tail and trotted a quick loop around his stall, nervous energy building. Just shy of his full-grown years, "the colt", as everyone still called him, only sported a twelve-inch cock, already fully erect and dripping with trailing strands of shimmering fluid. Zia entered the stall with Etta, placing a calming hand on the stallion's neck, whispering to calm the beast. His ear flicked as t

She envisioned Cedric playing the winning hand before an olive-skinned sheikh whose eyes flamed when he lost his horses. Cedric swung his cane low over the grass as he strolled. "Was he angry? The man was livid! But I won fair and square in front of a dozen pairs of eyes. Honestly, foreigners don't know how to play whist. Too much impulse and bravado." A wry smile creased Charles's lips. "I take it he was fond of his horses?" "Fond of their lineage," Cedric clarified. "The mares were both sired by his best stallion, an Arabian called Firestorm. Even I couldn't afford to make an offer to buy them."

“I mean, come on. I love Cameron and all, but could Dillon BE any more perfect?” I giggled. Stella was right. Dillon was pretty perfect. I’d harbored fantasies of owning my own horse for an entire year after the visit that summer when I was twelve. Not only had Dillon remembered, he’d gone out and bought me a horse, just to make that fantasy come true. And not just any horse. A thorough bred, racing horse. “Which one is yours?” Stella asked as we approached the stands. All the horses were parading around the race track, the jockeys on their backs.

Roxanne changed quickly, her eyes shining with excitement. "You look beautiful in anything, my fair princess," Jaxon complimented her as she stepped out. He took her to the stable, where twenty horses of different breeds awaited. There was Sugarplum, a beautiful chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead, Noir, a sleek black stallion with a star-shaped marking on his nose, a proud Arabian named Zephyr, a gentle giant of a Shire horse named Thunder, and several others, each with their unique markings and personalities.

“He is a Destrier. The finest I’ve ever seen aside from temperament. Horseflesh of that quality is meant to be ridden by a noble or even the king, but unfortunately, this one can not be trained.” “Perhaps he doesn’t wish to be ridden by a noble. They’re far too taken with themselves and think of nobody else. Isn’t that right Storm?” Eleanor turned back to the animal with another morsel in her hands, turning all her attention back to the horse and trying to pretend her husband didn’t exist. Storm's eyes danced between her and Fann a few times before he inched over and took the offering gently with his lips. After taking the food he bent his head so that his ear was by her hand, as though aski

Large, fanned ears flicked this way and that, and over Anzi’s head, the creature’s long, tufted tail did the same, providing both of them shade. Captain Gorien had been telling the truth. This stallion was a remarkable specimen. Well-trained, intelligent, strong, and possessing even greater stamina than its kind typically had. Anzi was sure they could go another twenty kilometers before they had to stop for a rest, and that only because of her own limitations, not the sand horse’s.

He looks around an realizes he's on a long, deserted sandy beach. The black stallion remains still, and the smooth coat shifts in emerald green under the overcast sky. The long and lush mane shimmers and glows in shades of seaweed green. The stallion turns his head and looks at him, Laurin walks up and tries to pat him, but the horse raises his head so high that Laurin can't reach. "I just wanted to pat you," Laurin says softly, "and thank you for saving me from the wild waters." The horse neighs low and deep before replying: "I don't want to be patted like a pet. I am the Brook Horse." He says it with pride in his voice as he towers over him.