I don't remember much... I remember pain. Lot's of pain. Jame's shocked face, Rosys sobs and questions, Sarahs tears, Stevens guilty look.
I was put up in some weird sort of contraption, which I was just too tired and hurt to protest or think twice about. It lifted me off my feet, releasing pressure. The vet (whom I had no affection for, what so ever) came and stuck something in my leg. As if it wasn't painful enough. But I guess it did help, because it numbed up my leg, leaving it so I could ignore the pain, but it left me awfully drowsy. Then I faintly remember falling asleep.... To say the least, it was a very blurry time. I have to keep reminding myself that I fell.
Waking back up in my stall, still in the odd thing that kept my weight off my legs. I was actually kind of fond of it, I could relax in it. Glancing behind me, I saw in alarm that a thick, odd thing was wrapped around my hurt leg. It made it slightly heavier, and the pain was back, but not as much as before. I sighed lightly, looking up through my blurred gaze as James and the vet trudged to the door, the vet explaining something that my mind was moving too slowly to grasp. James stared blanky at the ground, listening to the vet, but saying nothing, obviously stressed, and, according to the dark bags under his eyes, exhausted.
".. In time, it will heal, but I'm afraid he will never be quite sound. Racing is out of the question. He could get into, I don't know, hunters, lower level dressage, maybe some slow paced barrel racing, although I doubt a horse like him could be a western horse. But he won't be as fast as he used to, and it would be just terrible for his leg.." They slowed to a stop in front of my stall, the vet laying a hand on his shoulder, which went unnoticed. "I'm sorry, James. I have had a special spot for this horse ever since I helped deliver him." He murmured comfortingly, shaking his head. Clearing his throat, regaining his professional voice, he pulled a few bottles out of his coat pocket, his hand sliding off of James shoulder. "Continue putting pain killers in his grain, and after a few weeks, if he feels better, take him on a few walks. Keep him in the sling, but make sure you have someone pay plenty of attention to him, and try to prevent him from adapting stable vices. Also try to keep another horse around his stall if possible. I'm sure he would enjoy the company. I know he's a very social horse." He forced a weak smile, pulling at one corner of his mouth, his voice lowering. "The only reason why I didn't put him down is because he is truly a fighter. He can get through this."
James nodded, swallowing, but never looking at the vet, his red eyes fixed on his shoes. The vet hung around for a moment, but realizing he wouldn't get a response, he took James wrist, uncurled his fingers, pressed the bottles into his palm with his other hands, curled the fingers back around it, then turned and strode off, straightening his tie, clearing his throat again. James sighed, the noise long and shaky, the first the whole conversation, then looked up at me. What I saw shocked me. I always figured master was one of the strongest men alive, striding through this place like he owned it, when in reality he just owned a few of its horses. But what I saw was not that man. He looked crushed, defeated... And it touched me.
"Oh, Jesus, King.." He mumbled, his hands gripping the stall bars, leaning heavily on it. Biting his lip, a tear slipped down his cheek, and he looked at the ground. I tried to reach forward, best I could in my 'sling', grunting in effort, my nose barely brushing his fingers, but just that brought a smile to his lips. "You truly are a special horse.." He looked back up with another sigh. "And I will try my very best to keep you..." He mumbled, then removed his cap, combing his fingers through his hair. "But Howard isn't being very cooperative.." He looked back up at me, shaking his head. "Just... Take care of yourself. Joe will be by shortly." He reached in the stall, scratching the star on my forehead, hidden beneath my forelock, then turned and trudged off, his feet dragging against the ground, making scuffing noises, shoving his fists far into his pockets.
Superly duperly lazy! *ashamed*
And I'm not all that educated on horse injurys, so a few things might be wrong.
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The King was a legend, from the second he was born. His stunning looks and great speed started to lead him down the track of the greatest racehorse in history. He was spoiled rotten, and surrounded by loved ones, and competition. But when things tak...