Scar watched from the comfort of the shadows in the marketplace as they auctioned off wild horses to the crowd around the marketplaces arena. The sickly young colt that had caught his attention from across the throng of people stumbled out on long wobbly legs. His coat was muted grey and covered in dried dirt. His beady little black eyes were dull and full of fear. The auctioneer rattled on but Scar paid him no attention as his gaze accessed the crowd.
A sharp eyed old man eyed the colt. He looked like a nasty fellow, greedy, rotten, wicked deep down. He bid on the colt smugly.
Perhaps he was revealing in the cheap price or perhaps he was thinking about breaking in the young colt. Scar shook his head to clear his thoughts. Before he could think his hand rose and he was stepping forward; promising a few peices.
A woman's eyes widened in suprise as he moved forward from the shadows. She clearly hadn't seen him there until he moved. His cloak stll encased him away from the crowds view.
The sharp eyes of the man and the auctioneer darted to him.
The old man glared at him in contempt while the auctioneer glowed with barely contained excitement. He came to life; rattling off again. Him and the man didn't go back and forth too long before he stood at the stalls. His hand gripped the worn rope that was tied to the eaten harness of the colts head.
He had not spent any more money on the colt than it would take to buy a small square of cheese cloth.
He wondered since when life had become so cheap and materials so exspensive.
The man that handed over the rope had not even glanced at the colt as he gave Scar a pity filled glance and strode away.
He stabled the colt and wandered the marketplace until a few hours later when he reappeared with a plastic utter, a bottle, a small bundle of soft hay, and a bucket of milk.
The weapons he had come for today, forgotten until tomorrow.
The walk was long. He had to coax the little colt forward evertime a breeze stirred the trees.
The cottage was dark by the time they arrived. He tossed the hay on the front porch and rolled his shoulders stiff from the awkward grip he had maintained on the bulkier items.
It took a while to coax the colt past the doors threshold. Eventually he tied the rope to a sturdy hook in the wall and came up behind the colt to push him through behind his haunches.
When he was done he sat down on the hardwood flooring of the cottage with sweat beading his brow. He thought, killing people is easier than this, as he watched the wobbly legged little colt skiddishly sniff the funuriture and fireplace. He leaned up against the wall for a moment. The colt was replaced with a vision of violet eyes twinkling in the firelight, long tan legs curled beneath her as she turned to meet his gaze, and he stood abruptly. He went out to the small shed, and started gutting it. The racks of wine were moved to the family room wall. The back wall and the fireplace wall were lined with dusty bottles of glistening blues, purples and red, yellow, green, orange, and black. He had almost every kind in sparkling, dry and a few bottles mixed with magic potions.
The few tools he had collected over the years he stashed in his bedroom. He left the saws he had for felling trees and various peices of wood, and when that was all that was left he set to work on carving out windows.
The sun had been up a few hours before he finally finished. The finished product was a shed with tall walls ending at the top three feet on either side. The wood he had cut out placed on hinges and propped up for easy closing. The double wide doors were cut in half and the tops had been torn of their hinges and joined together with another piece of wood. He reused the hinges to reach their top ends to the top of the shed and put two long foldable peices of wood that would prop open. The shed was now a small single stable. Plenty big enough for one full sized stallion. He spread a thick layer of soft hay in the corner and found the colt nestled up in the corner of the bathroom, fast asleep.
Later he would create a separate pipe for his water tank so he could bathe the colt outside.
Which he did the next day. The colt shivered and shook the whole time. Which was a while; as he was coated in dirt. When he was finished the shabby grey colt had become silver and shining. He had long snow white stocking on his legs and a handsome dappled rear. A unique mark between his forelock and the bridge of his nose caught his eye. The mark of the fae. Perhaps the next time he saw Thaulka he would ask him about it.
He looked at the pathetic bundle curled up in the stall amid the hay and straw and couldn't help but to smile softly.
Not everything in the world was crumbling down around him. He was ready to build his life from the ground up. After all he did have plenty of time.