The Black Horse Novels & Stories

PRINCE Ciaran and his three subordinates were keeping watch in the Galenus City and were coming home when they saw a black horse tarrying along their path without an owner. "Your Highness," Drake alerted him as the horse went straight to them. Ciaran halted his Cimeræ and stared at the animal in question. "Where's your owner, bud?" he asked. The black horse neighed softly and even turned away. But it didn't went away from them.

The one on the right had black hair and looked like he could snap a person in half without breaking a sweat. "We're here for the monthly inspection," the middle one said, his voice deep and commanding. "I trust everything is in order, Blackwood." "Of course, Alpha Rowan," Mr. Blackwood replied, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the ground. "The tribute has been prepared, and our borders remain secure." Every person in the square was bowing, their heads down and their bodies trembling. Even the children were silent, pressed close to their mothers' sides. Suddenly, the horse belonging to the Alpha on the right, the one with black hair started acting strange. It tossed its head and snor

The rain would cause minor issues with visibility on the recon mission tonight, and the damp evening wasn’t favorable calving conditions, but he enjoyed the sound all the same. A sharp whinny drew his attention. Jeremy turned to find Wes’s horse, Black Jack, baring his teeth at a goose who’d taken refuge in the barn. Silver was watching the other horse with disdain, his tail raised high and haughty as if Black Jack’s petty antics were beneath him.

One of the knights shouted again. The corners of Wiggy's right lip and eyebrow lift together. "Do not be arrogant! We could be cursed kids, right?” Again Phillip glanced at the winged youth doubtfully. They put their trestle together, while Phillip was silent, reluctant to clash with his idol. Before the fight started, the shrill whinny of a horse split the sky first. The knights fell silent in unison as if recognizing the whinny. Slow but sure they stretched the crowd, making room for the horse to step forward. A large, jet black Friesian horse with a long mane on its head and ankles stepped into the crowd.

Brian continued asking questions about his event, and I found myself easing his nervousness. “Excellent. Every little bit helps. Let's head over to the grandstand. I want to get a good view of the race,” he said with a smile. I followed him to the grandstand, where I got a better view of the horses. The crowd was bustling; their energy was palpable. “I placed my bet on the black horse,” Mr. Brian stated, grinning widely. “Really? Why?” I asked. “It’s the Adonis horse—it belongs to Mr. Wesley.”

LAURA "Blacky's fine now, Isko. You can give him water," Laura told Isko, a Miller Estate worker responsible for the horses. Blacky was their Friesian Horse breed. She was at the clinic when Isko called about a horse acting sluggish. She rushed back to Miller Estate to examine Blacky and found that exhaustion and the hot weather were likely causes. Summer was tough on the animals. "Thank you very much, Miss Laura," Isko said to her.

Secretly I had hoped that this horse could replace Shadow for him, but that will be up to Lance and this horse. The stallion has a deep black coat that is so black almost no light can penetrate it. His mane and tail are the same shade, and he has beautiful chestnut brown eyes that stare deep into your soul and see everything. I genuinely believe the two of them are meant to be, so I cross my fingers and pray to Aethon that this will work.

Hopefully, the horse knows the way back to the palace. The harnessed horse yawns as I approach, unworried. It—I glance beneath its belly—he is a surprisingly handsome gray with a black mane to match his black legs and a white star on his forehead. He’s clearly been bred for distance, not speed, but I don’t know that speed would help either of us much here. “Would you like to go for a run?” I ask softly as I drift toward the cart itself.

There had to be at least thirty stalls total all immaculately kept with a variety of different horse breeds poking their heads through open stall doors. A coal black Arabian played with the ends of my hair while I stopped to pet a rust and cream colored Paint. But the most magnificent of all of the beasts in this barn was in the very last stall. Kingston, was an Eighteen hand Gypsy Vanner stallion, with a jet black coat and white dappling on his hind quarters. His mane and tail were snow white with his feathers matching. I stood back as Ronan opened the stall and led the massive horse out. I could tell just by looking at the two there was a long, loving history between the two of them.

I looked through it without planning to, the way your eyes move toward movement without being asked. The courtyard was full of horses. Dozens of them. Dark, heavy-bodied animals that looked nothing like the palace's polished white stallions. They were standing in rough rows, still and quiet, with the particular patience of creatures that had been ridden hard and were waiting to be ridden hard again. Every one of them was draped in a black covering. And on each covering, stitched in silver, was the image of a wolf's head. I stood at the window and looked at them for a moment without speaking.