Boring! But with horses.
Aug. 14th, 2005 08:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
danalwynI'm bored. I like being bored, but still, I'm bored. And that means I whine about it.
So far I have:
Woken up
Read some books
Surfed the 'net
Downloaded some ebooks
Read Metamorphosis for the first time.
Starting reading Beyond Good and Evil. Remembered why I disliked philosophy.
Read The Picture of Dorian Gray for the first time.
Did the laundry.
Ate lunch.
Went to Borders.
Went to Trader Joe's.
Made dinner.
Talked to family via phone.
Surfed the 'net some more.
And I'm still bored.
If only I could do this every day (well, with different books).
And as usual, when I'm bored, you get weird stuff. More story background-so it's not really well edited or planned out or anything. I need some help here, since I know nothing about horses and would appreciate any comments (I'm really, really, really ignorant on this subject). Oh yes, cruelty to animals lies under the cut:
Hwang Pang loved horses. He loved the way their skin moved when they ran-clutching to their powerful muscles, loved watching them stand there alert-deep eyes always staring at you, waiting for you to move. They were so alive to his eyes, even mud-splattered, dust-covered and heaving in exhaustion they still radiated a sense of life that left the boy in continuous awe. Ever since he was little, when he used to sneak down to the crowded stable at the rickety inn and watch the horses stand there and shake themselves off, he had wanted nothing more than to touch that soft velvety hide and become a partner with that magnificent race of steeds.
Hwang Pang loved horses. To date he had killed seventeen of them.
Among the stables, and in the stale, sweaty rooms where the men and women took their drinks with loud guffaws and the swapping of tales, that number was bandied about endlessly. Seventeen horses, bodies left broken and lifeless in the hands of their keepers. It was a miracle. The small, increasingly silent young man who brooded in the corner over a clay bottle of rice wine, who was spoken of in hushed tones by his companions, was said to have an intimate connection with the steeds he rose.
Big Ko Wu-sheng, short but almost as broad across as he was tall, spoke of this in awed tones, the scar on his forehead from where a fractious stallion had once thrown him wriggling in the firelight as he whispered in soft tones of Hwang Pang's uncanny skill. Ko had once killed nine horses in seven days during the Rice Field War, bringing troop reports almost four hundred leagues from Frog territory to the gates of the Hound clan. Weatherbeaten from long years running messages from the northern borders with the Ryang across the eastern plains, his face could still light up in awe when he described the boy's skill.
Slight Omitso Joshuyo agreed, her long black hair bobbing in the near-darkness of the rickety wooden hall. Her face might once have been considered beautiful before her nose had been shattered and her cheekbones broken. But here nobody gave her face a second look, they watched her tight, lean body, the body that had run a hundred leagues in a day without relay to bring messages on the Boar Clan sucession. That feat alone had killed three horses under her. Others in her life had cost others.
But Hwang Pang was special, the men and women who formed the corp of the Imperial Messenger Service agreed. Hwang Pang knew, perhaps hearing the sounds whispered through the tips of his finger or written in languid characters on the leather of his saddle, when a horse was about to give its all. Unlike other messengers, who frequently had to run a league to where they could requisition another horse, Hwang Pang always came into an outpost with the horse exhausted, but still alive. He always knew right when he reached the breaking point, right when the horse was about to give up on him, and slowed his pace just enough to make it to the next stop.
More often than not, the horse lived. But Hwang's abilities, the way he seemed to be able to squeeze extra minutes, extra seconds, out of his route, had earned him the toughest jobs. He could be forced to ride across the entire Empire in a moment's notice, could be expected to bring messages too important or too lengthy to trust to magical contact to the far flung reaches of the Emperor's dominion with only a single night's rest between journeys. Many were the times when one of the Imperial clerks had entered their tiny shack, behind even the servant quarters in the Palace of Laborious Virtue, one hand clutching a parchment scroll sealed in red with the words already on his lips "This is for Hwang Pang".
Hwang rarely talked these days. He had been growing quiet ever since he had begun the longer runs, ever since the magnificent beasts of the empire had started dying beneath him, one by one. The black with the white stripe on her nose, the one that frolicked so often with the other young horses, had died, alone and unloved, in an outpost two day's ride from Shikata, her last gasps painful attempts to suck in some of the life that Hwang had methodically ridden out of her. The bay, who had loved splashing in the small pond near the stables, had died in the dull heat of the plains, his heart failing him at last when confronted with the endless dry land that his master had ridden to. How many others, creatures who had once believed and trusted in their two-legged companions, now were only a memory, names blown upon the wind? Hwang Pang did not talk about it, in his heart his spirit was already dying.
Hwang Pang had killed seventeen horses. He was busy killing his eighteenth.
He could feel the heart laboring, the lungs trying desperately to suck in more air, the muscles faltering in their beating rythym. It was only a few more steps; already he could even make out the faces of the guards who stood in their polished armor by the Gate of Sudden Passage, the quickest entrance into the labyrinth Imperial Palace. He could see the courier boy, undoubtedly called up on the sight of an incoming Imperial Messenger, standing there, dancing from one foot to another. Hwang could see it, so close, so near, and yet so very far to the pounding hooves and the faltering pace of his steed.
And then he was there, sliding off his horse, hid hand automatically reaching for the scroll in its special pouch and handing it to the waiting hand of the courier boy.
"To the Secretarial Office and Lord Hong Ru," Hwang gasped, and before the words had finished leaving his mouth and trailing down to the ground the courier was gone, his feet flicking along the stone of the hallway behind him. Hwang closed his eyes and let a wave of exhaustion run over him, feeling relief in the discharge of his duty.
When he opened his eyes again his horse had moved on, one plodding step at a time, through the gate. Shocked into action, Hwang ran after her. Had she sensed that home was near? Did she know that just a few steps away was freedom and rest-until the next time this happened? Did she suspect-
Whatever she had known was no longer an issue. The heart paused, quaked, and then stopped, leaving the body to collapse into nothingness, a heap of skin and meat and bones now devoid of spirit. Hwang stared for a moment, and then turned away. The guards would call for someone to dispose of the corpse, or more likely to cart it away to be eaten. There was nothing he could do to save her that final cruel fate; he had already cried all the tears he was going to cry. There was nothing more to do here.
Unseeing he walked away, into the carefully maintained path through the gardens that lead to the Palace of Laborious Virtue, his feet moving in dull repetition on pure instinct.
"It's killing you, isn't it boy?" the voice from behind him startled him out of his exhaustion. Ko Wu-sheng was there, shorter than Hwang, but leaning against the wall of the nearest building.
"Sir?" Hwang asked his senior, confused.
"Every time a horse dies under you, you feel it, don't you?" Ko begin moving toward Hwang, his eyes unfocused, soft. "I can see it in you, you know. I can almost see the spirit leave your body when one dies. Everyone feels bad when they lose their mount, but you feel it deeper inside than any of us. And it's killing you. Isn't it."
Hwang could do nothing except nod.
"Then why do it?" Omitsu Joshuyo appeared as well, her black hair flapping behind her. "Why do you keep on strangling your soul like this? What crime requires such penance?"
"No crime, ma'am," Hwang struggled with his words for a moment, trying to find an appropriate response.
Ko laid a hand on Hwang's shoulder, squeezing the boy softly, compassionately. "You love the horses so much that you can't leave them, can you? Even if it does kill you."
Hwang could only nod.
"Then why not go somewhere else boy?" Omitsu asked. "There are plenty of other jobs that work with horses."
Hwang smiled to himself. He had fought this argument before, but with himself in the sleepless nights that followed tortuous dreams. "But none of them let me ride. And I would rather ride and die than never ride again."
The two other riders exchanged glances. Suddenly it was clear to Hwang that this was no accident. They had been waiting for a moment like this. Their concern touched him, made his heart swell, at the same time that it aggravated him for their interfering in his life.
"You could go west to the borderlands. There are free lands there where you could breed horses. They need someone with your expertise," Joshuyo pointed out.
Hwang gave a wry smile. "I have not the money for that, lady."
"Surely you have saved some of your pay."
"Not enough," Hwang shook his head angrily, trying to control the tears of frustration. Did she not understand how much a horse cost? Breeding was too expensive a proposition for a man of no means-no matter how far away he was from the Imperial markets.
"Here boy," Wu-sheng tossed him something, a small leather bag that he had brought out from inside his clothes. Hwang caught it reflexively, feeling the metal inside clink together and sink in his hands.
"There's twenty taels in there boy," Wu-sheng smiled at him. "A little bonus from a rich lord during the Rice Field War. Enough to start a little ranch of your own somewhere, along with whatever you've got. You don't have to kill yourself anymore boy."
"Sir..." Hwang stared at the bag in complete shock.
"Nothing out of you. It's what we do for each other. Now you go back to your room and get some sleep. If you wake up in the morning and still want to leave, then that bag is yours. Come see us before you go, we'll all miss you boy, but I don't think anybody's going to stop you."
"Thank you sir," Hwang bowed his head and backed up, clearly too shocked and too tired to continue speaking. Then, bowing the whole way, he withdrew from the presence of the other two riders in the general direction of his quarters.
"That was generous of you," Omitsu said.
"Money wasn't really mine," Ko shrugged. "Met a strange man during the war while riding. Did him a few favors, riding errands and such, and he saved my life. I figure I owed him more than he owed me. But he did something strange. At the end of the war he gave me two sacks of coins. Told me that one was mine, but that the other was for a rider who had more need than I. He was a strange fellow, so I didn't think that much on it, but it's been weighing on my mind. I think that was as good a time as any to lift it from my conscience."
"I see," the woman relaxed. "At least he won't be here during the next war. I'd hate to see him in that."
"So would I," Ko murmured. "Use your gift well boy. You're better off out of this game."
In the distance there was only the faint neighing of horses, and the faint mocking laughter of destiny.
So far I have:
Woken up
Read some books
Surfed the 'net
Downloaded some ebooks
Read Metamorphosis for the first time.
Starting reading Beyond Good and Evil. Remembered why I disliked philosophy.
Read The Picture of Dorian Gray for the first time.
Did the laundry.
Ate lunch.
Went to Borders.
Went to Trader Joe's.
Made dinner.
Talked to family via phone.
Surfed the 'net some more.
And I'm still bored.
If only I could do this every day (well, with different books).
And as usual, when I'm bored, you get weird stuff. More story background-so it's not really well edited or planned out or anything. I need some help here, since I know nothing about horses and would appreciate any comments (I'm really, really, really ignorant on this subject). Oh yes, cruelty to animals lies under the cut:
Hwang Pang loved horses. He loved the way their skin moved when they ran-clutching to their powerful muscles, loved watching them stand there alert-deep eyes always staring at you, waiting for you to move. They were so alive to his eyes, even mud-splattered, dust-covered and heaving in exhaustion they still radiated a sense of life that left the boy in continuous awe. Ever since he was little, when he used to sneak down to the crowded stable at the rickety inn and watch the horses stand there and shake themselves off, he had wanted nothing more than to touch that soft velvety hide and become a partner with that magnificent race of steeds.
Hwang Pang loved horses. To date he had killed seventeen of them.
Among the stables, and in the stale, sweaty rooms where the men and women took their drinks with loud guffaws and the swapping of tales, that number was bandied about endlessly. Seventeen horses, bodies left broken and lifeless in the hands of their keepers. It was a miracle. The small, increasingly silent young man who brooded in the corner over a clay bottle of rice wine, who was spoken of in hushed tones by his companions, was said to have an intimate connection with the steeds he rose.
Big Ko Wu-sheng, short but almost as broad across as he was tall, spoke of this in awed tones, the scar on his forehead from where a fractious stallion had once thrown him wriggling in the firelight as he whispered in soft tones of Hwang Pang's uncanny skill. Ko had once killed nine horses in seven days during the Rice Field War, bringing troop reports almost four hundred leagues from Frog territory to the gates of the Hound clan. Weatherbeaten from long years running messages from the northern borders with the Ryang across the eastern plains, his face could still light up in awe when he described the boy's skill.
Slight Omitso Joshuyo agreed, her long black hair bobbing in the near-darkness of the rickety wooden hall. Her face might once have been considered beautiful before her nose had been shattered and her cheekbones broken. But here nobody gave her face a second look, they watched her tight, lean body, the body that had run a hundred leagues in a day without relay to bring messages on the Boar Clan sucession. That feat alone had killed three horses under her. Others in her life had cost others.
But Hwang Pang was special, the men and women who formed the corp of the Imperial Messenger Service agreed. Hwang Pang knew, perhaps hearing the sounds whispered through the tips of his finger or written in languid characters on the leather of his saddle, when a horse was about to give its all. Unlike other messengers, who frequently had to run a league to where they could requisition another horse, Hwang Pang always came into an outpost with the horse exhausted, but still alive. He always knew right when he reached the breaking point, right when the horse was about to give up on him, and slowed his pace just enough to make it to the next stop.
More often than not, the horse lived. But Hwang's abilities, the way he seemed to be able to squeeze extra minutes, extra seconds, out of his route, had earned him the toughest jobs. He could be forced to ride across the entire Empire in a moment's notice, could be expected to bring messages too important or too lengthy to trust to magical contact to the far flung reaches of the Emperor's dominion with only a single night's rest between journeys. Many were the times when one of the Imperial clerks had entered their tiny shack, behind even the servant quarters in the Palace of Laborious Virtue, one hand clutching a parchment scroll sealed in red with the words already on his lips "This is for Hwang Pang".
Hwang rarely talked these days. He had been growing quiet ever since he had begun the longer runs, ever since the magnificent beasts of the empire had started dying beneath him, one by one. The black with the white stripe on her nose, the one that frolicked so often with the other young horses, had died, alone and unloved, in an outpost two day's ride from Shikata, her last gasps painful attempts to suck in some of the life that Hwang had methodically ridden out of her. The bay, who had loved splashing in the small pond near the stables, had died in the dull heat of the plains, his heart failing him at last when confronted with the endless dry land that his master had ridden to. How many others, creatures who had once believed and trusted in their two-legged companions, now were only a memory, names blown upon the wind? Hwang Pang did not talk about it, in his heart his spirit was already dying.
Hwang Pang had killed seventeen horses. He was busy killing his eighteenth.
He could feel the heart laboring, the lungs trying desperately to suck in more air, the muscles faltering in their beating rythym. It was only a few more steps; already he could even make out the faces of the guards who stood in their polished armor by the Gate of Sudden Passage, the quickest entrance into the labyrinth Imperial Palace. He could see the courier boy, undoubtedly called up on the sight of an incoming Imperial Messenger, standing there, dancing from one foot to another. Hwang could see it, so close, so near, and yet so very far to the pounding hooves and the faltering pace of his steed.
And then he was there, sliding off his horse, hid hand automatically reaching for the scroll in its special pouch and handing it to the waiting hand of the courier boy.
"To the Secretarial Office and Lord Hong Ru," Hwang gasped, and before the words had finished leaving his mouth and trailing down to the ground the courier was gone, his feet flicking along the stone of the hallway behind him. Hwang closed his eyes and let a wave of exhaustion run over him, feeling relief in the discharge of his duty.
When he opened his eyes again his horse had moved on, one plodding step at a time, through the gate. Shocked into action, Hwang ran after her. Had she sensed that home was near? Did she know that just a few steps away was freedom and rest-until the next time this happened? Did she suspect-
Whatever she had known was no longer an issue. The heart paused, quaked, and then stopped, leaving the body to collapse into nothingness, a heap of skin and meat and bones now devoid of spirit. Hwang stared for a moment, and then turned away. The guards would call for someone to dispose of the corpse, or more likely to cart it away to be eaten. There was nothing he could do to save her that final cruel fate; he had already cried all the tears he was going to cry. There was nothing more to do here.
Unseeing he walked away, into the carefully maintained path through the gardens that lead to the Palace of Laborious Virtue, his feet moving in dull repetition on pure instinct.
"It's killing you, isn't it boy?" the voice from behind him startled him out of his exhaustion. Ko Wu-sheng was there, shorter than Hwang, but leaning against the wall of the nearest building.
"Sir?" Hwang asked his senior, confused.
"Every time a horse dies under you, you feel it, don't you?" Ko begin moving toward Hwang, his eyes unfocused, soft. "I can see it in you, you know. I can almost see the spirit leave your body when one dies. Everyone feels bad when they lose their mount, but you feel it deeper inside than any of us. And it's killing you. Isn't it."
Hwang could do nothing except nod.
"Then why do it?" Omitsu Joshuyo appeared as well, her black hair flapping behind her. "Why do you keep on strangling your soul like this? What crime requires such penance?"
"No crime, ma'am," Hwang struggled with his words for a moment, trying to find an appropriate response.
Ko laid a hand on Hwang's shoulder, squeezing the boy softly, compassionately. "You love the horses so much that you can't leave them, can you? Even if it does kill you."
Hwang could only nod.
"Then why not go somewhere else boy?" Omitsu asked. "There are plenty of other jobs that work with horses."
Hwang smiled to himself. He had fought this argument before, but with himself in the sleepless nights that followed tortuous dreams. "But none of them let me ride. And I would rather ride and die than never ride again."
The two other riders exchanged glances. Suddenly it was clear to Hwang that this was no accident. They had been waiting for a moment like this. Their concern touched him, made his heart swell, at the same time that it aggravated him for their interfering in his life.
"You could go west to the borderlands. There are free lands there where you could breed horses. They need someone with your expertise," Joshuyo pointed out.
Hwang gave a wry smile. "I have not the money for that, lady."
"Surely you have saved some of your pay."
"Not enough," Hwang shook his head angrily, trying to control the tears of frustration. Did she not understand how much a horse cost? Breeding was too expensive a proposition for a man of no means-no matter how far away he was from the Imperial markets.
"Here boy," Wu-sheng tossed him something, a small leather bag that he had brought out from inside his clothes. Hwang caught it reflexively, feeling the metal inside clink together and sink in his hands.
"There's twenty taels in there boy," Wu-sheng smiled at him. "A little bonus from a rich lord during the Rice Field War. Enough to start a little ranch of your own somewhere, along with whatever you've got. You don't have to kill yourself anymore boy."
"Sir..." Hwang stared at the bag in complete shock.
"Nothing out of you. It's what we do for each other. Now you go back to your room and get some sleep. If you wake up in the morning and still want to leave, then that bag is yours. Come see us before you go, we'll all miss you boy, but I don't think anybody's going to stop you."
"Thank you sir," Hwang bowed his head and backed up, clearly too shocked and too tired to continue speaking. Then, bowing the whole way, he withdrew from the presence of the other two riders in the general direction of his quarters.
"That was generous of you," Omitsu said.
"Money wasn't really mine," Ko shrugged. "Met a strange man during the war while riding. Did him a few favors, riding errands and such, and he saved my life. I figure I owed him more than he owed me. But he did something strange. At the end of the war he gave me two sacks of coins. Told me that one was mine, but that the other was for a rider who had more need than I. He was a strange fellow, so I didn't think that much on it, but it's been weighing on my mind. I think that was as good a time as any to lift it from my conscience."
"I see," the woman relaxed. "At least he won't be here during the next war. I'd hate to see him in that."
"So would I," Ko murmured. "Use your gift well boy. You're better off out of this game."
In the distance there was only the faint neighing of horses, and the faint mocking laughter of destiny.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-15 04:32 am (UTC)Good God A'Mighty ... you've just now read Metamorphosis?
No teacher forced you to read it until now?
Wow.
Pretty bizarre, isn't it?
And your horse story is pretty good.
Saw a couple things I'd change, but it's good.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-15 02:49 pm (UTC)I wasn't that impressed with it, although it was okay. If it had been a sci-fi author I would have lambasted them for bad style.