Bessamare Bay

As though arising from the waves themselves, they thundered in from the sea. A herd of the most massive, magnificent equine creatures that any human being had seen or imagined. Even a man who was well-acquainted with the royal lines of horses, such as he, who stood on the beach watching the spectacle. Known simply as Ernest, it had been his privilege to have served in the most honored stables in several kingdoms. Even he could not tell you how many years he had seen. He often said it was the suns of a thousand summers that had drained the color from his eyes, for they were changing, reflecting it seemed, whatever he gazed upon. They acted as mirrors of the world and the people around him. Some liked what they saw, some did not. It mattered not to him.

His young companion, Lars, son of Lord Greyson of Grey Rose Manor, was mesmerized by the sight of these steeds galloping out of his twilight dreams. The rising sliver of a moon still fought the fading light of the setting sun, and the rays that escaped the battle settled on the luminous silver and white coats of the approaching four-legged armada. He whispered to the old man, “Where could they have come from? We’ve seen no boats and they certainly did not travel along the stretch of beach we walked today.”

His companion could not speak for several moments, when he did it was in a whisper, “My young sir, these beasts are not of this world. They have been sent from beyond the veil”

“Beyond the veil?" Lars had always thought of that as the land of legends. A place of stories existing for the Bards and their adventurous tales. And of course, old men like Ernest made use of it for morality lessons to feed the minds and souls of their young charges. Not that he would ever argue the point with the likes of his mentor whose commanding tone had more than once explained the land Beyond the Veil as “real to those with enough true essence and insight to open their minds and hearts to experiences beyond what their eyes and ears could tell” And to be honest, there were times when even Lars would have to confess that he sensed movement or “something” just beyond his field of vision, but upon turning to look, found there was nothing there, nothing at all.

But there was no denying the galloping hooves of the herd that tore up the red sand, and maneuvered effortlessly around the jagged rocks of Bessamare Bay. Lars and Ernest found themselves unable to move despite the fact that they were in the direct path of the approaching army, so entranced were they by the spectacle that arose from the sapphire waves only to be mirrored in the darkening twilight sky.

There was no warning as the herd suddenly stopped, surrounding them. Just as suddenly they had become as calm as pasturing mares. Their leader, a Silver Stallion, stood before Ernest, its manner suddenly docile, almost subservient. The two men watched in amazement as the horse dropped gracefully into a kneeling position allowing the old man to easily climb upon its back. He did so, while gesturing to Lars to mount the majestic white steed that was coming up on his right side. The young man reverently got on, and found himself at once forced to hold on as the horses broke into a rolling gallop. He looked back to see the rest of the herd following at the same steady pace.

The two companions rode in silence, exchanging looks of wonder and confusion as they found themselves riding towards home. Finally the young man found his voice, “How will we ever explain this one?”


The elder man laughed heartily, feeling his youth return as he thought of the adventures and experiences that had brought him to this moment. He answered his young charge in a booming voice, “No explanations will be necessary. You bring your Father a gift of magnificent proportion. Truly we have been blessed this day!”

The young man could only look at him in wonder, as they reached the familiar woods that surrounded their home. Grey Rose Manor, his legacy, crumbling though it was. He often felt the sorrow of his Father, his constant struggle to attain the respect of the other royals and even of his own people. It seemed that loyalty and service to the King was not enough to raise the prestige of his Family Name. The wealth and status did not impress and it was only fear of retribution and punishment that allowed them their people’s service. Lars had long dreamed that he could somehow attain his Father’s fervent wish of respect and glory. And now, perhaps it was that possibility, that hope which now would carry him home.