A pale quilt of light was eased through the cracks of a tainted window. Spilling the rays across the barn aisle, hours would pass before any sign of life was portrayed onto the scene. It was ten o’clock and already a kind woman had dropped feed for all the mares standing impatiently within their stalls. Breeds were varied, but most were of Western quality riding. Leaving the new addition to be one of a kind. She made no commotion and held no extra additives for the daily routine. It was likely she wouldn’t even be noticed to most, so long as she was buried away within the limits of her cedar lined stall. Velvet muzzle was buried into the lap of her tub, tiny morsels of grains being diligently picked before consumption. She cleaned the bucket out after nitpicking with every loose pulp that had fallen onto her bedding. She wasn’t a very “clean eater”. Nostrils dilated and rippled with a heavy sigh, lungs collapsing under the exertion before inflating once more. Metals bars clanged with brittle force against each other, before shoes collided against the aisle cement. The others were being led out to pasture. Lucky. Well crafted dial was lifted to allow her vision to scan the surroundings, but she did not witness much other than woman slip into a stall, then lead a bay mare out. Ears pricked with each symphonic detail of the morning schedule, but Essa was not moved. She came to terms with the agreement and went back to the left corner of her enclosure. Thick ligaments carried her well muscled bodice over the mounds of shavings, which she navigated well. Flamed strands fell to the right side of her crest line, ticking the faint sight of dapples.

Sans Espoir, or Essa, was a young chestnut Thoroughbred mare. She had undergone professional training in the hunter ring, after failing to commit as a racehorse. She was foaled in Ireland and exported to the United States for her previous owners, as a yearling. She boasted a strong bloodline, blood looks; blaze, three socks, strong top line. She escaped the dismal fate of most auction horses and ended up here, under the ownership of Jennel Marcs. Tassel swung around her flanks in irritation with a few bits of debris straining her canvas. Words reverberated from the walls, another person was within the barn. There were to women conversing, but Essa did not flee from her spot. Dropping her mug to hover above the ground, she inhaled sharply, noting the plethora of aromas swarming her new environment. From the hinted idea, she knew there were stallion upon the premises, perhaps a few geldings. It was likely that a few of the mares were pregnant, or were planning to be bred.

Resurrecting a conformational correct pose, she craned her sight back to the front of her stall. There went one woman. Velvet lips parted as a muffled whicker struck her chords, in a begging attempt to get her attention. This did nothing but gain a half hearted smile from the busy person. Well, that was useless. Pivoting upon her cannons she pursued a path leading her to the front of her stall. Three strides was all it took. Alabaster stained face was pressed against the bitter coolness of the bars, lashes sweeping over her pupils in a pathetic gaze across the hall. The crisp air revealed a warming day outside, without rain. Thank goodness. A few showers had fallen to the earth and kept a majority of the horses from enjoying their time without restraint. Except for those darn fences, they were always there. Never left. Oh well, it was just another fact of life.

Who were these people? The circus? They were too clumsy to keep their stud from escaping, but to add to their embarrassment, they hauled other horses over to catch him. Which was far from necessary. However, each family has their quirks and they seemed kind hearted. That’s what mattered most. The cue had been given for Essa to remain on the backburner of attention as Mrs. Marcs spoke with the outsider humans. A hungry scowl ate Essa’s façade as she searched the open doorway for a nearby paddock that had her name written upon it. But before she could successfully achieve this, a brilliant green lead was snapped to her premium leather halter. Pressure. She had to move forward. Harks remained lifted and eyes widened as she grew eager to escape the confinement. Jennel took the commanding role and slid open the latch of the stall door and pushed it wide enough for the slender Thoroughbred to squeeze through. Flints swallowed the bedding and danced upon Jennel’s heels before clambering noisily onto the asphalt. She performed a piaffe away from her stall and collected just behind the girl and on the right of the “mother”. Large, bulky horses passed in the opposing direction of the barn entrance, leaving only a single female standing their talking to her owners.

Nostrils widened with expressed interest in the lingering aromas. They had brought another stallion? They were asking for trouble. Stallions in a mare barn, not good. Not smart. Unless you had planned on a mixed breed baby. Ah, that was nothing to worry about. They seemed to be secure within their trailer, a man working on their ties. Essa had settled in a mature fashion behind her girl, she had no further response. But there it was again. Pressure upon the rope. But this was not direction to move forth or in reverse. This was the kind of protecting grasp that held reluctance to let anybody near. Jennel was blockading the others from reaching her. There was much pain in her actions, in her tones, in her eyes. She was such a sad story, a depressing song. It was Essa’s job to protect her. Not the other way around. In recognition of the struggle for help, the florid dame thrust her dial forward over Jennel’s left shoulder. Crest extended and arch divinely with her motion, kissers parting as she exposed her dentals in a flashy smile. Closing her trap, the mare swung her stern readily to the right, as if threatening to break free of restraint. All a bluff.

Lungs swelled and with a powerful effort, she released a blaring whinny. Her ribcage shook with the force and her lobes swiveled wildly upon her poll. She was successful in breaking the attention from the subject “moving on” upon the farm. For some reason, she knew it was the wrong topic to linger upon. Blowing huffed snorts, she rested her chin upon Jennel’s head, as if they were kindergarten pals. Silly humans, they caused each other so much remorse. So much competition. They needed to learn to work with each other, even if it meant waiting behind for somebody else. But maybe that’s why the young teen standing before Essa retreated to horses. They were the best friend a human could have.