Wry Erenson I was only 8 when my parents dropped me at my aunts front door in the middle of the night. They said they'd come back for me when they could. They didn't tell me where they were going but I always had a hole in my heart telling me they left for the mainland. I would cost too much to take along so I was left. My aunt, Krista Erenson, wasn't the kindest woman to me. She was a drunk. She wouldn't hit me, she wouldn't say much to me. Though she loved to call me, "A burdensome boy." I was left to clean the house myself if I wanted it taken care of. Which I did. Very much. Clutter has always driven me mad, and being that she was a drunk, there was always clutter. At 16 I believe I'm a solitary type, any friends I made in the past were only looking for temporary distraction. As I've gotten older kids my age have started going on hunts in the dead of night to catch fresh Capaill. I never thought it safe. I've been working for a farmer close to the house. I don't do an awful lot, but I get paid enough to eat and dress warm. I help tend sheep. It was irregularly warm this evening for being so close to the races. I was stuck in the field late looking for an accounted for sheep and her kid. I found them strewn along the fence with their killer still close by. I froze, ice trickling up legs. The grey-blue Capaill mare stared deep into my eyes. I stepped back away from it and remembered they'd always told us to keep still. She stepped toward me and huffed. Her eyes a deep sea-sickened brown. She looked too thin to be well. I started to feel worry for the creature. I stood there nose to nose with the creature until a truck came down the road. Kendrick was called to come get the thing. As always he didn't speak to anyone but the Capaill. He walked it into an old stable on the farm and was gone as quick and quietly as he'd come. This sea-crazed horse looked into my eyes again, but this time I looked back. I seemed to feel her icy-warm presence even heavier than I had before. I cautiously put my hand out and she snorted. She didn't snap or scream like a Capaill would if it wanted a piece of your hand. I knew this was a sign. Why? I didn't know. But I did know that I would be riding in the races on this horse. As I stood before her I could see the bells braided in her mane and the deep brown saddle on her back. I would name her Grásta. Wry: http://www.kabalarians.com/cfm/DisplayNameAnalysis.cfm Grásta: Mercy in Gaelic
