The War to End All Wars

The War to End All Wars
A very old man rode his horse along the North Sea coast of Belgium. “I must find Victoria,” he informed the horse, who nodded his head. Like all horses, he understood Human Talk, though he couldn’t speak it.
Victoria must be his wife. Or perhaps his daughter? Sister maybe? Thought the horse as they trotted along the coast. The waves were rough and it was getting colder. In all likelihood, Victoria would not be out for a stroll.
“Only when I find her can she rest,” the old man murmured. “I have to let her soul go.”
The horse than understood: Victoria was dead. How long she had been dead was anyone’s guess. But based on the man’s extreme age and two world wars that had decimated Belgium, she could have been dead for almost ninety years. The man on his back had to be near one hundred years old. The horse could tell his wasn’t a native Belgian, for he spoke English. He wondered where the man was from and why he’d returned and who Victoria was.
“She must be around here,” the old man announced to the horse. “The battle was in Ypres. She must be around here.”
The horse had a fleeting, terrible thought. He wondered if Victoria was The White Horse, the horse that stampeded up and down the coast every night. She became the most ferocious in October.
He turned around and sprinted, the old man clinging to him for dear life. He knew where The White Horse like to roam. He would take this crazy human to see her, then take off.
“Stop!” bellowed the old man. The horse halted. Ahead of them, on a rock was the White Horse. A ghost of a horse, who whinnied at them. Then she seemed to recognize the old man and stopped.
“Victoria?” said the old man, sliding off the horse. “My God, it is finally you. After ninety years I’ve found you.”
Victoria looked angry. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you from the Huns,” the old man said. “They were firing from all directions and I had to save myself. I’ve never forgiven myself for being too much of a coward to get you to safety.”
The old man’s appearance began to change. He went from being an old, old man to younger and younger until he finally stopped when he was hardly more than a boy. “Now we can both rest in peace. I have not been able to rest until I found you.”
“Victoria was my horse during the Great War,” he told the horse still on the shore. “When the Germans were assaulting us, I got off her and ran away. She perished in the battle. I’ve never forgiven myself for that, as I’ve raised and loved horses all my life.”
The horse bowed his head as led Victoria by the bridle into a land where battles never came.